《Path of the Sleepless: A LitRPG Adventure》


 Book 1 | Chapter 01: Awakening Ritual

    ¡°Move with purpose,¡± Kalen Onearm barked, his duelling cane poised for the next strike. ¡°I didn¡¯t teach you to be sloppy.¡±


    Gritting his teeth, Harrow shifted into a defensive stance, barely saving his shoulder from another blow. His limbs ached from all the gruelling exercises, leaving him far from his best during the spar¡ªnot that it would have mattered. Master Onearm was in an uncharacteristically foul mood this morning.


    With narrowed eyes, he observed his opponent¡¯s approach. Despite the tall and heavy stature, Master Onearm moved with an agility that belied his year. As his name suggested, the old master had only one arm, but that mattered little, considering he was once a full-fledged knight with decades of training and experience.


    Whereas Harrow was nothing but an unawakened bum.


    Well, he wasn¡¯t homeless yet, but he might as well be if his Awakening fails.


    The old master¡¯s training rod, held high, swung mercilessly towards Harrow in a threatening arc. He managed to block the first strike but struggled to parry the following ones.


    There was no room for him to push forward. Harrow found himself constantly on the defensive, forced to withdraw under the unrelenting charge. Each contact between their weapons sent electric spasms through his arms, intensifying the ache.


    ¡°No,¡± the retired knight yelled, his voice piercing the air, unsatisfied. ¡°I ain¡¯t seeing it yet. You are better than this, boy!¡±


    Those words would have struck a nerve before, but after a couple of years under the old knight, it was almost a daily routine. Of course, it wasn¡¯t every day the old bloke was hellbent on destroying Harrow. On most days, he left it to his other students.


    Harrow shifted his weight onto his front foot and mounted a more committed stance. His moves lacked refinement compared to his opponent¡¯s, but he poured every ounce of strength into them. It wouldn¡¯t change the outcome¡ªhe knew that¡ªbut Onearm would be more satisfied seeing him try to land a hit.


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it,¡± growled the old man, parrying his attack. A hint of satisfaction played on his lips.


    Harrow liked to think of himself as a swordsmanship prodigy¡ªan unsharpened blade¡ªbut such sentiments felt hollow after getting beaten up most days in training. There hadn¡¯t been a single time he could stand up to the old man.


    They continued sparring until the sun rose completely from the horizon, leaving Harrow utterly spent and sprawled on the ground.


    The old man seriously needs a woman in his life, he thought.


    ¡°Clean the pavement and tools before you leave for the ceremony,¡± the old knight instructed, placing the duelling cane among the rest of the equipment. ¡°Also, don¡¯t come crying if you receive a shit-skill, got it?¡±


    Harrow grunted.


    He remained on the ground, still catching his breath. His stomach twisted in hunger. Whoever invented the tradition of fasting before the Awakening was a massive prick¡ªnot that he ever came to practice on a full stomach. His thoughts circled around the ceremony.


    The Awakening Ceremony was arguably the most important event in anyone¡¯s life. Through this single ritual, one¡¯s fate would be set in stone. A person could become a knight, a common soldier, a butcher, or even a toilet cleaner¡ªall dependent on the skill they awakened.


    Honestly, Harrow didn¡¯t think the gods would condemn him to clean shits for all his life, but one never knew. After all, he had spent plenty of time cleaning toilets just to earn some spare change.


    Swordsmanship was the art he spent the most time on. Perhaps he could never become a knight, but he couldn¡¯t help keeping his hopes up. The path of a magus was beyond his wildest dreams, as nobody but the nobles knew how to train for that vocation.


    It wasn¡¯t like it had never happened, but Harrow didn¡¯t consider himself so lucky.


    All he hoped was that the gods wouldn¡¯t be merciless in their choices.


    Something poked him on the shoulder. His eyes fluttered open to find a familiar figure crouching next to him.


    ¡°Did I disturb your sleep?¡± Eira chimed, still poking him with a duelling cane.


    ¡°I was meditating,¡± he said in a monotonous voice.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°I believe you,¡± the old master¡¯s daughter smiled, clad in a simple white gown, ready for the ceremony.


    The girl was strikingly different in appearance from her father. While the old geezer was tall, dark, and rough-looking, Eira stood a full head shorter than Harrow, her features delicate and less severe. Her blonde locks were meticulously bound in a braid.


    Had it not been for Onearm¡¯s integrity, Harrow would have suspected that the retired knight had stolen Eira from a noble house. Her pearl eyes gave the impression of nobility.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t Father ask you to hone all the tools and clean up the rest?¡± Eira arched her eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re going to get an earful for that.¡±


    Harrow grunted as he rose and made his way to the toolbox. Gushing over the girl would only antagonise the old man and all her other suitors¡ªwhich were half of boys his age in town. Who knew when the geezer would run out of patience and ram his sword through some unlucky fella¡¯s chest?


    He certainly wanted to do that to Alec, Harrow thought.


    Soon the metallic scraping sound filled the air with his fingers deftly grazing a knife against the whetstone. Eira lingered in the yard.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you missing something?¡± she asked, eyebrows raised.


    Pausing his grinding, Harrow lifted his gaze to meet hers. Clueless.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to wish me luck for the ceremony?¡±


    ¡°As if you need it,¡± he snorted. ¡°For now, let me cling to the bit of luck I have left. You¡¯ll awaken something good either way.¡±


    Eira arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. She left him to his devices.


    Harrow sighed deeply, gazing at the tools scattered around him. All this would take over an hour to finish honing, followed by sweeping the pavement and watering the flowers. This would probably the last time he¡¯d be working here if Solus wishes it.


    A few minutes later, Eira emerged from the house with her father. The old knight rarely left home, but today he decided to show up at the temple for his daughter.


    Knowing the ceremony would last for hours, Harrow was confident he¡¯d finish his chores and join in due time. Still, he hastened his grinding, swiftly honing the blades one after another. The constant motions took a toll on his fingers and arms. It was a familiar ache¡ªone he had made peace with long since his time being the butcher¡¯s apprentice.


    After completing his errands, Harrow ran to the orphanage, which was thankfully just around the block of the temple. His body strained from hunger and exhaustion as he searched for water. Nobody important was present at the orphanage¡ªthe Awakening Ceremony was a festive occasion that drew everyone to the temple.


    Along with water, he found a loaf of bread. His stomach growled.


    Harrow froze, considering the off chance of angering the gods before his Awakening just for a loaf of bread. The gamble simply isn¡¯t worth it.


    However, before he could put the bread back, a figure appeared behind him and pulled his ear.


    ¡°I should have expected it¡¯s not a cat scooting around the kitchen at this hour.¡±


    ¡°Sister Serena!¡± Harrow cried. ¡°You haven¡¯t gone to the temple?¡±


    ¡°I was waiting for you.¡±


    He tilted his head.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t waiting to catch you stealing bread.¡± the nun shook her head and snatched the loaf from his hand. ¡°Good thing you haven¡¯t eaten it yet, or you¡¯d have blamed yourself all your life if you received an inferior skill.¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯d be blaming Solas for everything from now on.¡± He realised he¡¯d said it aloud when she gave him a pointed look.


    At least he was glad to learn both Master Kalen and Sister Serena had expected him to awaken a skill¡ªdoesn¡¯t matter if it¡¯s the lowest of the low. There were telltale signs that indicated the possibility of awakening a certain kind of skill. Kash¡ªanother kid from the orphanage¡ªwas nimbler than most kids his age. He had awakened the skill [Light finger (Uncommon)] last year.


    Physical traits began to manifest during the adolescent years. It was the magical ones that were difficult to perceive.


    Harrow exhibited no particular physical traits other than being a head taller than most of his age. His physique scrawny, and severe for a fifteen-year-old boy.


    ¡°Go prepare yourself. I have something for you,¡± Sister Serena literally pushed him into the washroom.


    Refreshing himself, he changed into a more presentable tunic. Bathing was pointless, as he¡¯d be taking a dip either way.


    ¡°Sister?¡± He returned to find her waiting with an old box in her hand.


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    She had donned her rounded-framed glasses and was gazing at him with an unreadable, emotional look. He had spent all his life in the orphanage, and she had been part of it for all the years, but he rarely saw her exhibiting such state for anything.


    Harrow approached. He¡¯d grown taller than her, though for most of his life he remembered being shorter. She touched his cheek before bringing out a red string, braided in nine smaller strands¡ªeach for a divinity.


    ¡°Give me your hand.¡±


    She tied the red string to his wrist, praying that Solas would protect him forever.


    ¡°What¡¯s in the box?¡± Harrow asked, his eyes darting towards it.


    ¡°Inheritance,¡± she said softly before opening it to uncover a sheathed dagger. ¡°It¡¯s from your father.¡±


    His heart skipped a beat as he glared at the item. Harrow took it and unsheathed the blade. Though it wasn¡¯t rusty, the dagger had certainly seen better days. Its outward look didn¡¯t indicate anything magical about it, though it rarely did to unawakened eyes.


    ¡°I wish he¡¯d left something else instead of a weapon,¡± she murmured.


    Harrow shot her an inquisitive look. ¡°Sister, is this¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an Artifact.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± His eyes narrowed at the dagger, wondering how to prove it. If cutting himself would, he¡¯d do it in a heartbeat. Well, Sister Serena could see it through the System¡¯s eyes, and she had no reason to lie.


    ¡°Your father left behind a donation to the orphanage and the dagger all those years ago,¡± Sister Serena said with a heavy heart. ¡°I pray to the goddess that you never have to use it.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to pray for that. I¡¯m going to sell this to the first legitimate merchant I can find.¡± Harrow made sure to keep my emotions in check. Either way, it wasn¡¯t a terrible choice to sell the artifact, if all it did was remind him that he was abandoned.


    The middle-aged woman sighed, looking older than she ever had. ¡°You¡¯re getting late for the ceremony.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Harrow sheathed the dagger and stuffed it into his waistband before walking out. ¡°Pray to the goddess to give me a legendary skill, Sister!

 Book 1 | Chapter 02: Mark of the Sleepless

    Orlin was a lonely town situated on the very fringe of the empire. Despite its remote location, it was the only town in the surrounding areas that possessed an old temple devoted to Goddess Solas.


    The folks of Orlin and nearby villages were pretty diverse in their faith, but it didn¡¯t stop them from crowding over the old temple on occasions such as the awakening ceremony.


    Nestled amidst a serene expanse of wheat fields, the temple stood as a weathered and unpretentious chapel that seemed to have withstood the test of time. It failed to reflect the true grandeur and influence associated with the Primordial.


    Unsurprisingly, Harrow found scattered groups of minor nobles in lavish clothing camped outside the temple, eagerly waiting to recruit the promising, awakened candidates. It was nothing unusual to see them here, though he was astonished to find them not crowding inside the temple.


    The skeletal remains of a stone arch led him into the sanctuary, where people crowded, clamouring. As he crossed the arches, a withered statue at the heart of the plaza came into his sight. One simply couldn¡¯t assume it to be a statue of the goddess, considering it was challenging to determine whether the statue depicted a male or female figure.


    Harrow trudged his way and met with a sea of people obstructing his path. The number of adults in attendance far surpassed the youths present for the ceremony. After a couple of good minutes of shoving and wrestling with the people, he painfully made his way towards the main hall. Thankfully, the crowd was sparse there, as only the candidates taking part in the ceremony were allowed inside. Unless you have given a hearty donation to watch your child awaken their power, of course.


    Saving himself from the mass, Harrow hurried into the hall. In his haste, he failed to see someone emerging from the hall.


    He caught sight of blonde locks of hair just before colliding with someone. Harrow stumbled, barely regaining his balance and scattered attention until he could finally discern whom he had collided with.


    ¡°Eira,¡± Harrow instinctively called out, stooping down to extend a helping hand.


    Her wet hair and outlook implied she had already undergone her awakening and awakened no physical strengthening ability, as she alone ended up falling from the impact.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be running inside the temple,¡± Eira said, raising her right arm to inspect the bruise on her elbow.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± Harrow muttered, but his words fell on deaf ears.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Eira sighed, accepting his arm and allowing him to help her up. Her expression showed she was bothered by something else entirely other than the little bruise she received from the collision. Perhaps not satisfied with the result of her awakening.


    The way she averted his gaze and drifted away before he could ask about her experience only gave evidence to that. If it weren¡¯t for his own ceremony, Harrow could have stayed there for a few minutes to listen to her. But there were far more qualified people out there to reassure her. She didn¡¯t need my help.


    Nevertheless, a disturbing agitation settled in his stomach as he regarded others of his age. Many stood with a self-assured poise, clad in white ceremonial dress. But it was only after observing their body language did Harrow noticed their assurance was nothing but a facade. Plebeian or Patrician, all of them bore the telltale signs of nervousness. Fidgeting limbs or darting eyes were all common.


    If someone of Eira¡¯s upbringing and blood could awaken an inferior skill, what fate had in store for them?


    Harrow sucked in a deep breath and drifted to one corner where nobody would see him. At least the Rector conducting the ceremony was not the same one who liked to blabber unnecessarily. Some gossip that entered his ears revealed that it was the Rector who banned the Guildsmen and nobles without a candidate from entering the sanctuary.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    He didn¡¯t stop there. Observing the chaotic gathering in the hall¡ªwhich was no better than a bustling fish market¡ªhe dismissed the families who had already completed their ceremonies. Even among those still yet to undergo the awakening, the stern Rector allowed only two relatives to wait.


    In a matter of seconds, the hall grew more spacious as more than half the attendees dispersed. The local priest called individuals forward one by one, as the Rector led them to the awakening chamber where the awakening pool should be.


    The youths chatted idly, mostly to shake aside their nervousness. Although some envious voices entered his ears over rare elemental skill. Harrow clenched and unclenched his jaw, choosing to remain silent. The cold wall he was leaning against reassured him as much as the inheritance in his pocket did.


    The door to the ceremonial chamber opened and closed as each youth came and went in turn. He kept his eyes steady on them, so focused that their delightful or sorrowful words blurred in his mind.


    Harrow noticed Durian¡ªa boy his age from the orphanage, now an adult¡ªcompleted his ceremony and came out of the chamber with a defeated look. Despite nothing changing in his outlook, the world would expect a great many things from him. Want him to be self-reliant.


    Time blurred before his eyes. Almost everyone was gone from the chapel when the blond Rector ushered him into the chamber. Instinctively, Harrow lowered his head, ensuring not to directly stare at the priest of the goddess.


    He was as pious as the next bloke, but there was always something unnerving about the eyes of powerful awakened. And one had to be a pretty high ranked¡ªperhaps Elite Class to be a Rector. It was as if they could see his whole fate unfolding before their eyes.


    Soft rays of sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, casting a gentle glow upon the worn stone floors of the ceremonial chamber as Harrow cast his sight inside. Amidst the hallowed walls, tapestries, and murals telling stories of the Primordial, Harrow found the small pool next to the altar where another statue of the goddess stood. It was in far better shape than the one outside.


    Then he saw something truly foul that churned his stomach.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± the Rector said, looking at the nasty vomit sprawled before the Ascendant Pool. ¡°Some kids just couldn¡¯t tolerate the process.¡±


    There was nothing foul in the pool, right? Harrow hoped.


    ¡°What is your name, boy?¡±


    ¡°Harrow,¡± he said unwittingly. ¡°Um, it¡¯s Harrowin, your grace.¡±


    ¡°Harrow,¡± the rector nodded, as a light flickered from his palms. ¡°Hopefully, you followed the tradition and fasted for the occasion.¡±


    He nodded, his eyes glued to the glowing hand of the priest.


    ¡°Just a minor cleansing spell,¡± the Rector said to ease him. ¡°No need to get worked up. I¡¯m far from being a magus.¡±


    He cast the light into the foulness, which melted it out of existence along with any urge Harrow suffered to follow in the footsteps of the previous candidate.


    ¡°He must have awakened a scary good skill, huh?¡±


    "I''m not supposed to divulge other''s skill." The blond man smiled. He was way more polite than he looked, which eased Harrow¡¯s anxiety somewhat. ¡°Safe to assume it¡¯s a strong physical-based skill. Usually, those tend to cause an upheaval in the stomach.¡±


    The middle-aged man guided him towards the pool. Harrow approached, his gaze fixed upon the clear, dense water that seemed to possess an otherworldly quality. The surface of the water reflected light differently from ordinary water, with thin misty threads of smoke puffing out.


    ¡°Do not resist the Aether, son,¡± the Rector advised, his voice carrying a tone of solemnity. ¡°Embrace its essence, open your heart to the goddess, and let her lead you to your designated path.¡±


    Gathering his wits, Harrow stepped into the pool, allowing himself to be submerged in the hallowed water. A chill rushed down his spine. Any doubts he harboured dissipated as he witnessed a radiant white glow emanating from the Ascendant Pool.


    Harrow cast one last glance at the statue of the goddess on the altar, his right palm clasped over his heart in prayer. Give me a chance. Please. I¡¯m not worthless!


    Then he dipped completely into the cold water. The water swirled around him. His right arm jolted with piercing pain as icy coldness stabbed into it.


    Harrow couldn¡¯t comprehend what was happening as the chill spread through his body and mind, stunning him completely. The Rector had advised him not to resist, but he wasn¡¯t sure if he could have resisted even if he tried.


    Golden light shimmered, and then blackness enveloped him, drowning him in a sunless realm. Gasps clawed their way out of his parched throat as he stared into the thick darkness looming over him.


    An elderly cold voice rang in his mind, taking away his last semblance of consciousness.


    [Legacy Confirmed: Mark of the Sleepless.]


    [Qualification Achieved for Trial Protocol.]


    [Initiating Rite of Passage Sequence¡­]


    [The Primordial Awaits Your Triumph.]

 Book 1 | Chapter 03: Awakening

    <div>


    A stabbing pain gnawed at his mind as Harrow¡¯s eyes snapped open. He was sprawled face down on warm, prickling grass, its sharp blades biting into his skin.


    Reddish sunlight flickered through the dense canopy above, casting twisted, flickering shadows around him. Blinking up, Harrow squinted against the harsh light of the sun, which hung high and crimson, bleeding into a sky tangled with thick clouds.


    The leaves overhead weren¡¯t vibrant green but sickly yellow and dull, drained of life. The air was thick and stifling, heavy with humidity. As he took in his surroundings, a creeping unease coiled around his gut. The ominous crimson sun confirmed how out of depth he was in this predicament.


    A deep, unsettling feeling began to take root in his heart. Where the hell is this?


    No matter how many times he scanned the area, nothing looked familiar. His muddled thoughts struggled to piece together the last moments before he had blacked out.


    He closed his eyes and recalled undergoing the awakening ritual. The icy chill of the hallowed water still fresh in his mind, though his body felt none of the shivers. Then there was the blackness, and the divine voice saying something about Sleepless and a Rite of Passage?


    Opening his eyes, Harrow pinched himself. As if that wasn¡¯t enough, he even slapped himself a couple of times. But he knew for a fact he was not going to wake up. This is not a dream, is it?


    Fear clawed at his heart as he surveyed his surroundings, searching for something¡ªanything¡ªto anchor him to reality. He found nothing to suggest he was anywhere near the little town of Orlin.


    Then the divine voice echoed in his ears again. It was ancient, as he recalled¡ªunsympathetic, perhaps prearranged even.


    [Forced Awakening successful!]


    [Welcome, Challenger, to your Rite of Passage.]


    Legends claimed the divine voice belonged to none other than the Primordial Order, ever observing, determining justice for all transgressions that might befall upon mortals.


    But what of the injustice done to me? Harrow cried inwardly. Where is my skill? Why am I in this nightmare?


    The ancient voice continued its preset words.


    [Honour Attained!


    Mark of the Sleepless: One may tread the path of Sleepless, untouched by Dream¡¯s embrace if they find the correct sacrifice.


    Boon: Unrestricted Skilltree.]


    ¡°I tread no such path!¡± he cried. What does that even mean? Can¡¯t it talk human?


    [You may summon the specification of your Profile by staring into the mark on your right arm with intent.]


    Harrow planned to do just that when an upheaval struck in his stomach, convulsing his insides. Knowing exactly what was coming, he tried to muffle his mouth with his palm, but eventually, he felt sick at the distaste. Jerking his head to the left, he vomited out the bile.


    ¡°What the...?¡± The curse hadn¡¯t left his lips when goosebumps crawled all over him. A warm, boiling current surged through his muscles and bones. Thankfully, the pain only lasted for a fraction of a moment. His whole body glistened with sweat.


    [Skill Gained!


    Cloak of Night (Elite): +1


    A veil of night conceals you, protects you, and restores you, though solely after nightfall.]


    A huge grin was about to split his face upon hearing the word Elite, but his lips twitched at the ¡®solely after nightfall¡¯ part.


    ¡°Kismat¡¯s teats!¡± he cursed. What did I do to deserve this?


    Despite the restriction, the skill seemed great. But then again, the description explained little. Harrow could only activate it and experience how remarkable it was, but that would have to wait until night-time.


    Sighing, he finally turned to notice the sharp mark on his right palm. It was the usual runic wheel for the most part¡ªexactly the same as all awakened received. The unusual part was the pupilless eye in its centre. Like any awakened mark, it wasn¡¯t erased, no matter how desperately he rubbed.


    ¡°All right, show me my profile,¡± he said, staring unblinkingly at it with unabashed intent.


    The light swirled in front of his eyes to form a disembodied illusion of runic texts.


    <hr>


    [Profile]: Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Harrowin


    Rank: Awakened - Unformed


    Path:


    Honour: Mark of the Sleepless


    Unformed Core: 1%


    Aspects


    U/A


    Skills [1/8]:


    <ul>


    <li>


    Cloak of Night (Elite): +1


    </li>


    </ul>


    Relics: Duskripper


    <hr>


    ¡°Why is there something called Path?¡± he thought aloud. As far as he knew, no awakened had that option. Either way, it was empty, much like his aspect. His unformed core stood at 1%, and only raising it to 100% would he be able to claim an aspect.


    Then he faltered on the skill tab. His eyes widened sharply as his heart skipped a beat, remembering the description of the [Mark of the Sleepless].


    ¡°Is this what unrestricted skilltree means?¡± he said. ¡°I can have all eight skills right now?¡±


    The profile suggested so. But how do I even get more skills without advancing? I cannot afford a skill crystal even if I sold myself.


    Only horrifying monsters formed something like a characteristic, which sometimes gives one a skill, along with headaches and a dozen other issues.


    An awakened of the Unformed rank usually had only one skill slot, filled with the skill received on their awakening day. Unless they progressed to the Formation Rank, there was no way of increasing the skill slot¡ªproving how essential the first skill was. Some skills were so poor they didn¡¯t help with progression.


    Conversely, some skills were so overwhelming that one could advance to the Formation Rank within a week.


    After mulling over it, Harrow decided he didn¡¯t fall into either group.


    Either I¡¯m awfully lucky, or royally shrewd, he thought.


    <div>


    Sighing, he paused on the last tab. He didn¡¯t remember having a relic. Those things were rare, even¡ª


    It can¡¯t be! Harrow swiftly fished out the sheathed dagger from his pocket, his expression incredulous.


    The ancient voice rang in his ears, freezing him in place.


    [Relic: Duskripper


    Rank: Ascended [VI]


    Description: A concept stolen from the realms of Dream and carved into a ceremonial knife.


    Enchantment:


    Sacrifice: The relic strengthens itself with each sacrifice.


    Plunder: Plunders essence from the stabbed target.]


    ¡°I have so many questions.¡± Ignoring the fact that the voice was as unreliable as ever, he wondered, What did it imply about my father leaving the relic for me?


    He didn¡¯t have an answer to that, but now he knew how to get a skill crystal, though only a fool would exchange a relic for a skill. Still, this should amount to an Epic rank skill.


    Unsheathing the knife, Harrow tested it by slashing at the nearest tree. The blade was too small to be handy for monster hunting, but the deep scars it carved into the thick bark of the humongous tree proved it was quite useful. There were also those two enchantments. Again, he had no clue exactly what they meant, but they implied he needed to stab something to find out.


    He would need to figure out more about that later, but for now, he needed to take care of his survival.


    The voice mentioned a trial¡ªhis Rite of Passage¡ªthough it hadn''t mentioned what he needed to do to pass. Trials felt like something that came hand in hand with dangers.


    ¡°I can do this,¡± he told himself, clutching the relic tight.


    After some more convincing himself, Harrow hit the path, vigilant and far slower than his usual pace. His observant eyes scrutinised every disturbance. Even the familiar chirping of the bugs made him cautious. The forest seemed never-ending. Tall trees, thick hedges, the unfamiliar sun high in the sky, and the stiff wind caressing his skin all heightened his anxiety.


    He moved stealthily, hiding behind trees. With towering trunks all around, enveloping the land in a wild shade, Harrow felt exposed and a collection of other unbridled emotions. The eerie silence was getting on his nerves.


    However, it was far from the dread he witnessed in the next instance.


    A sudden disturbance halted Harrow in his tracks as he instinctively hid behind a gigantic tree. Something crept ahead¡ªdark brown, thick as one of those tree trunks, twisting in an undulating motion as if some great mechanism was at work.


    But Harrow knew it was no machine. Machines didn¡¯t hiss like that. High-pitched squeaks and hisses gnawed at his ears. He caught his first glimpse of the horrifying creature, swallowing a deer in one gulp. The animal stuck in its neck in a huge bulge as the great serpent slithered and pushed it down.


    Harrow swallowed a breath, sweating cold. His heart lurched inside his chest as his palm moved to muffle his mouth, ending the instinctual scream before it could escape.


    The noise came to a rest, and Harrow didn¡¯t remain there to get a full view of the great serpent.


    I need to escape! his mind screamed.


    With the decision made, he turned his head and crept away as discreetly as possible. He didn¡¯t give the massive reptile another glance, his dread pumping sufficient adrenaline to keep moving until he lost track of distance. His pace quickened, and soon he was in a mad dash.


    Harrow ran like his life depended on it¡ªbecause it did. He didn¡¯t know if the snake had his trail or whether it gave chase, but he couldn¡¯t stop after witnessing something like that.


    Trees blurred as the stuffy air curled around him. Harrow stumbled and fell a couple of times, unable to control his newfound prowess, but he did not stop. He was unaware of how long he ran. Too ecstatic to discern it. The core even in its unformed state provided him with an endurance common people wished to see in themselves.


    Harrow only stopped when his legs couldn¡¯t endure any more. His muscles ached, filled with acid. Wheezing as though it was his last, he leaned against a tree, heavy gasps escaping his lips.


    It didn''t look like the serpent gave chase. Relieved, he panted leaning against a tree, as his back dragged down onto the ground.


    With a sharp noise, something fell from the tree.


    It dropped in front of him, too big for a fruit, and there was no way a fruit moved like that. It was a head-sized creature that wasted no moment to lurch at him, working all of its legs.


    A giant ant?!

 Book 1 | Chapter 04: Beguiling Tree

    Before Harrow could confirm his guess, the creature shot at him.


    ¡°Solas, It¡¯s fast!¡±


    Oddly, the size of the ant didn¡¯t frighten him as much¡ªnot after what he had witnessed. Compared to the massive serpent, the ant was only a foot long and covered in a deep brown carapace. And the fact that it was an ant. Perhaps it would be frightening if it came in numbers, however, as a lone ant, it held little of his terror.


    It was agile, but not enough to evade his notice. Harrow kicked it as soon as it came within range, shoving it aside.


    Tor¡¯s balls, that hurts!


    Thankfully, the sight of the giant ant hurtling a dozen paces to crash into another tree was a damn satisfying one. The impact left it dead still on the ground.


    Harrow looked around and approached the ant. With an assessing foot, he nudged it. The ant lurched into motion, regaining a little of its mobility.


    ¡°Bloody hell!¡± Instinctively, he pinned his hurting foot on the head of the ant, forcing all his might over it. A delightful crunch sound followed as his foot dug into its shattered exoskeleton, dark purple blood smearing his barefoot. I¡¯m really missing my boot right now.


    [You have slain an Unformed Creature: Pincher Ant.]


    A smoky wave of something threaded out of the crushed creature and entered him. A trace of heat rose in his chest, and Harrow knew immediately what it was. Essence.


    Unfortunately, the quantity was too low to provide much.


    ¡°I guess it only amounted to this,¡± he said. Quickly, he wiped away all the filth from his foot in case the blood was contaminated. You could never know about these cursed creatures.


    After contemplating for a couple of minutes, Harrow decided he wouldn¡¯t question the incredulity of the situation. It was counterproductive. The time would be better invested in ensuring his survival¡ªwhich implied he would need to kill more of these creatures.


    The situation is completely absurd, perhaps absurd thinking will bear fruit.


    Bringing the knife out, Harrow struck at the already dead ant. ¡°Come on, do something. Sacrifice!¡±


    He was hoping to see at least one of the two enchantments¡ªSacrifice or Plunder¡ªactivate. Unfortunately, nothing happened.


    Maybe I need a live sacrifice.


    His eyes darted around his surroundings, easily finding more of those giant ants in the trees. They seemed to be sucking nutrients from the trunks, minding their own business, not bothering to attack him as the other one did.


    Hesitating a little, he kicked the tree trunk, trying to shake the ants into falling. That proved to be an impossible task, as the tree was at least four times thicker than his waist. And that was the smallest of the trees in the surroundings.


    He was not stupid enough to climb the trees and fight them on their turf, no matter how good of a climber he was. His eyes darted to the knife, and his mind wavered a bit. He would at least want to know what those enchantments could do.


    Clenching his jaw, Harrow targeted one at the lowest branch of a tree with a lone ant. He bit the hilt of the knife between his teeth and climbed up the tree. The ant didn¡¯t seem to notice his climb and continued to suck on the tree. It was only when he came near that it stopped and lurched at him.


    Harrow swatted it with a fist, causing it to fall onto the ground. Prepared to not let it flee, he jumped down, trusting his augmented physique to save him from any undue injury. The fall was nearly twenty feet, and he timed the landing well enough to remain unscathed.


    His worry about the ant fleeing seemed to have been unfounded. The giant ant had made him its target, and it bolted towards him, emitting a low screech. These were not like normal ants at all.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Clutching the relic in a reverse grip, he waited for it to strike. The ant lunged at his chest, becoming a brown blur. His dagger arm flashed just as menacingly, grazing over the carapace and biting into it. Purple blood bubbled out from the wound, but the ant was far from being dead.


    Finally, it seemed to remember the threat to its life and dashed in the other direction.


    ¡°No,¡± he barked, shooting after it, ¡°you are not going anywhere.¡±


    The bleeding ant jumped into a hedge, and Harrow followed. Thankfully, the wound slowed it down, or else he would have had no chance of catching up to it.


    He lunged on top of it, striking the blade into its back with a squelching crush.


    [Claim Sacrifice: Y | N]


    ¡°Yes,¡± he accepted without thinking.


    The monster churned under his knife, as smoke and heat radiated from it. To the naked eye, the creature melted into a burst of light and smoke, leaving him utterly transfixed.


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Pincher Ant.]


    [Essence plundered.]


    Heat rose in his chest, and now more of the essence was channelled into his body, releasing most of his exhaustion. He felt like he could go through all of Master Onearm''s gruesome training regime without missing a beat.


    The smoke vanished as soon as it came, leaving only a little of the purple blood.


    The relic surely lives up to its name, he thought, sitting upright.


    Harrow was about to look for his next target when something lurched out, causing him to recoil onto his butt. A tall green stem, as thick as his waist, rose ahead of him, its huge flower towering over him.


    He squinted at the one huge red flower on its head. It didn¡¯t look carnivorous, as it didn¡¯t attack him as he assumed. It remained a metre away from his head, hundreds of its red petals flapping at him in a greeting.


    His vigilance waned as a mesmerising scent permeated the air. Harrow found himself drawing his arms towards the irresistibly mesmerising flower.


    There was so much more for his two eyes to take in. All his insecurities, troubles, fatigue, and pain washed away as he stared at it, getting drunk on its hypnotic scent. Whatever it was, he wanted more. He wanted all of it.


    If Harrow had a canvas, brush, and colours, he would have made one of his masterpieces out of this view, though he was aware his meagre skill couldn¡¯t do justice to its beauty. One had to experience it first-hand to know, the fluorescent flower and its spores¡ª


    A tingling sensation spread to the back of his mind, chilling his spine. Even if the flower was beguiling to a fault, Harrow was not out of his mind to practise his poor painting skills on it.


    Something was very wrong with this plant. Thankfully, he was not too late to recog¡ª


    His eyes grew wide as the head of the stem lurched at him. The red petals turned jagged akin to daggers, while a dark hole loomed in the middle of the flower.


    Harrow lurched to his left to evade the flower head, but he wasn¡¯t nearly fast enough. The flower crashed onto his back, its sharp petals biting into his skin. Thankfully, the impact hurtled him away from it, and he rolled before the monstrous head could capture him. Unlike the pincer ant, agility was not one of its strengths.


    Harrow escaped safely, only to discover there was no dagger in his hand. He didn¡¯t even know when he had dropped it. The plant was so terrifyingly mesmerising and soothing that he failed to notice anything beyond it.


    The dagger lay a couple of paces away from the stem, while the misty spores in the surrounding air completely. He guessed the entranced state was probably due to the spores.


    ¡°Entrancing tree,¡± he groaned. Great, that¡¯s the thing I was waiting for.


    Harrow exhaled sharply and muffled his mouth and nostrils, hurrying far beyond the grasp of the plant monster. It appeared there was a limit to its reach, as the other part of the stem was rooted to the earth. Still, to escape the hypnotic spores, he had to move further away.


    Finally, he breathed fresh air as his mind reeled back to clarity. Harrow was mesmerised no more, nor did the flower seem beautiful to him. Contrary to being beautiful, it terrified the living daylights out of him. It lurched its unrelenting flower head in his direction, resembling a serpentine creature trying to gulp him down in one bite.


    Despite failing to trance him for the second time, the flower head didn¡¯t stop releasing the spores. It was effective¡ªnot just on him, but a large bug flew straight to its demise, intoxicated by the spores. The flower head didn¡¯t wait ceremoniously; it sucked the bug into the looming cavity at the centre of its petals.


    A chilling sensation ran down his spine as he witnessed it all. Its cavity was narrow, ill-equipped to devour a complete human, but he didn¡¯t like his chances.


    Unfortunately, Harrow dropped the only tool he could use to hurt it, kill it even. He could walk away, but he didn¡¯t want to leave the weapon, no matter how menacing the flower monster seemed. He would likely discover more monsters like this if he were to survive this trial.


    He could escape safely now, but what would he do against a monster that didn¡¯t have a movement restriction?


    Yeah, I need my tool back, he thought. However, it didn¡¯t seem like the monster would let him have it without taking a bite or two.


    Harrow watched as the monster devoured one bug after another, yet still more flew towards it. He impeded the advance of one of the ants with a crushing kick, as an idea formed in his mind¡ªan idea that would not only get him back his weapon but might as well kill the plant monster too.

 Book 1 | Chapter 05: Pain

    Before his bleeding even stopped, Harrow jumped at the opportunity presented to him.


    The hypnotic spores didn¡¯t affect him as much. However, the dull bugs weren¡¯t safe from their reach. Giant ants, bees, beetles, or cricket-like bugs flew to their deaths willingly, intoxicated by the spores.


    Harrow stayed clear of the paths of the more agile bugs¡ªespecially the bees. However, he didn¡¯t let any of the ants pass to their death. No, he killed them himself, squashing their shell-like exoskeletons with wild abandon, one after another.


    He kept at it for a quarter of an hour. His feet were smeared in purple fluid from all the hard work.


    By then, the plant monster had stopped emitting spores, though that hardly stopped the bugs from bolting to their deaths.


    Now that he was satisfied with a couple of dozen giant ant corpses, he turned his gaze to a beetle that had almost fled from the trap of the plant monster. The black beetle was twice as big as the largest ant he had killed but injured to the point that it couldn¡¯t fly straight.


    All that worked to his advantage. Harrow loomed behind it to shove his fist into its back. The injured shell cracked as he smashed it against the ground. Its struggle was finally rendered futile when Harrow leapt on top of it, squashing it with everything he had.


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Iron Beetle.]


    [Unformed Core: +2%]


    ¡°Whoa!¡±


    Within mere seconds, the familiar current pulsated through his chest. This time he was prepared for it, so he could feel it stronger than the previous times. His whole body warmed up, eliciting a sharp pain through his bones and muscles.


    Harrow squirmed on the ground, clenching his jaw to suppress his scream. Pain was familiar, pain was a universal companion--every awakened endured pain because there was no path without pain. If there was such a path it isn''t worth taking.


    He uttered the words of the Autarch in his mind like a mantra, hoping it would ease the pain. It did not. But it distracted him just enough to endure through it.


    The agonising moment passed, leaving a relishing feeling of awe¡ªan awe at how lively he felt. Even the wounds he had received from the jagged petals closed up, though not completely healed.


    He would need to kill a couple of dozen beetles like this to reach another percent of progression¡ªor maybe something more menacing. Harrow had a perfect target in mind.


    Harrow jumped to his feet and found himself soaring a couple of metres into the air, his body light as a feather. A grin split his scrawny face.


    Now it was time to deal with the freaking tree.


    After having the bugs as breakfast, the flower monster reverted to its beautiful state, recoiling its serpentine stem into the hedge. Harrow would be a fool to fall into its scheme again. Quietly, he collected a few of the ants he had killed and crept closer towards it. He rested six dead ants in a heap just beyond its reach and peered at where his relic lay.


    ¡°Hey there, nice day, isn¡¯t it?¡± he called, holding out a corpse. Maybe the monster plant had some form of intelligence, even if it couldn¡¯t communicate.


    ¡°I guess you¡¯re just not like most trees. How ¡¯bout this? I¡¯ll give you this tasty, delicious, not-so-juicy corpse of a giant ant in exchange for you refraining from eating me.¡± Harrow shook the corpse around, trying to gauge its attention. ¡°You know, it¡¯s quite special, freshly killed by yours truly, Harrow the fearless. I know you want it. Well, you can have it, just... be a little less vicious, okay?¡±


    Honestly, it felt stupid to talk to a tree, but it pushed aside the nervousness gnawing at his heart.


    Harrow took another cautionary step, his eyes drawn to the knife. He sucked in a deep breath and threw the ant at its head. The fiend lurched up off the hedge, and the maw opened in the middle of the petals as it devoured the corpse completely. It let out a high-pitched shrill. Satisfaction? No, it wanted more!


    ¡°I have more?¡± Harrow grinned, raising two ants and clutching them by their appendages. He prepared to throw them, dashing towards his weapon. ¡°Go and get it!¡±


    He threw the corpses in two different directions. No matter which one the plant monster chose, it had to reach for its food. That had been his plan. As the plant lurched to collect the ant to its left, Harrow bolted to where his weapon lay.


    The baits worked as Harrow lunged at his tool. He rolled over to swiftly fish out the knife. On the other hand, the plant monster caught onto the corpse sooner than he had anticipated.


    Harrow swore inwardly, but instead of trying to escape, he lunged towards the hedge where the stem stuck to the ground. That had been his plan, to begin with.


    The flower head didn¡¯t go for the second ant lying on the ground. No, it twisted its head to shoot for him. Its mouth opened in a screech, aiming to take a bite of his leg. Harrow lurched towards the stem as the maw missed him by only a small margin. Before it could attack again, he lunged at it, pinning the dagger to the green bark. Even if he couldn¡¯t kill it, he was confident of escaping in one piece. The beetle had done it, and its wit was literally nonexistent.


    The serpentine stem lurched. Harrow struck again, hacking the dagger continuously, using all of his augmented strength. The flower head reeled at him in self-preservation.


    Harrow waited for the Sacrifice option to expand before his eyes. But no such thing happened, much to his distress. So he could only double down on his plan and hack relentlessly at the bark, working for the utter destruction he sought.


    The blade had no trouble finding purchase either. It was an Ascended Relic, not just in name, even if it was ill-equipped for the job.


    [Essence Plundered.]The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    [Essence Plundered.]


    [Essence Plundered.]


    Finally, something! He wasted no time in celebration, twisting his legs around the stem and hacking without a care in the world. The undulating flower struck at his back constantly, but it couldn¡¯t quite find the elevation it needed to strike a blow that would dissuade Harrow from his work.


    ¡°God-fucking-damn!¡± It was agonising¡ªthe jagged petals tearing through his tunic to bite into his skin, worse than anything he had endured under Master Onearm and his disciples.


    Clenching his jaw in grim determination, he twisted his legs tighter around the stem and began hacking with ruthless efficiency.


    ¡°Bad tree!¡± Harrow shouted, yanking his dagger and plunging it repeatedly into the same spot. Dark green liquid poured out in a spray, its smell entrancing, melting his pain away. ¡°You could¡¯ve lived happily eating those bugs.¡±


    The flower head struck again, wounding him. His already torn shirt turned threadbare in mere seconds, but he worked through the pain, as though the monster had turned him into a true hater.


    Green liquid bubbled onto his palms and body, while the intoxicating aroma stunned his senses. His pain dulled, but his instincts screamed, forcing him to keep working.


    Before Harrow lost himself in the intoxication, the monster became sluggish. Its attacks barely mustered any force now. He was successful in penetrating it multiple times, enough to create a deep hole, causing the stem to dislocate.


    The flower monster screeched, and its scorching red petals distorted. Madness filled the plant monster as it hurled at him in a final desperate attack. The dagger-like teeth in its maw twisted and contorted, looking fiercer than ever.


    ¡°You know,¡± Harrow said, panting. Green liquid bubbled on his palms and body, while the intoxicating aroma numbed his senses. ¡°I¡¯m finally starting to understand you. You just want to eat, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He lunged to climb higher above the wounds he had inflicted, forcing all his weight and strength onto the stem to split it further. Its undulations ceased, unable even to carry its own weight. The creature couldn¡¯t muster any real attack anymore. It did try to strike with its mangled head, but it was too slow. Finally, the stem snapped, rendering all its madness futile.


    The plant wasn¡¯t dead yet, though he had almost completely severed its stem. A flood of juice poured from the crack. Did he need to sever it entirely or uproot it to kill it?


    Severing it completely was easily achievable, but he felt uprooting it might be counterproductive. Who knew how deep its roots extended into the earth?


    Thankfully, the Sacrificing enchantment finally triggered, relieving him of the burden. A prickly sensation came to his palm, and Harrow accepted it before the option even appeared.


    [Claiming Sacrifice!]


    [You have slain an Unformed Forestfiend: Rose Hunter (Tainted).]


    ¡°Whew!¡± A warm power surged within him again, driving away his exhaustion momentarily. But it wasn''t enough to raise his Core by another percent. ¡°All this for¡­¡±


    He winced as the green serpentine trunk melted into mist and light. Harrow fell to his knees, coughing violently. The tree monster vanished, but his arms were still drenched in green juice. It shimmered like nectar.


    A small white ball, uneven and oozing juice, appeared when the smoky mist cleared. He rasped, picking up the uneven white ball and fixing his gaze on it, hoping the system would reveal its secret.


    [Rose Hunter¡¯s Root Essence:


    Hint: Alchemy material. Can be ingested directly to recover from essence exhaustion.]


    ¡°This is going to be useful,¡± he rasphed. But his attention soon shifted to the buzzing noise behind him. Harrow squinted and turned to see a giant beetle flying towards him.


    Although the plant had vanished, its intoxicating nectar and spores had not. Most of it was smeared on his body. He sniffed the liquid on his arms, and his expression stiffened. He reeked of the same smell as the Rose Hunter¡ªand with alarming intensity.


    ¡°Kismet¡¯s teats!¡±


    The giant beetle, nearly twice the size of his head, hurtled at him. Harrow raised his dagger in defence, but its jet-black shell was too hard to crack. The dagger was deflected, so he followed up with a kick that flung the creature several metres away.


    Unfortunately, the dead flower monster hadn¡¯t summoned just one beetle. Dozens of ants from the surrounding trees converged on the scene. A smaller number of bugs, beetles, bees, and other flying insects joined their ranks soon enough.


    Half the swarm went for the remains on the ground. The rest made Harrow their primary target.


    He cursed his luck and quickly gathered all the bolts within reach. Before he could collect them into his quiver, he had to strike at one of the beetles attacking him. The strike felled it, but there were dozens more, assaulting him from all directions.


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Iron Beetle.]


    He didn¡¯t stay to find out what other creatures the nectar might summon. Collecting his wits, he made a run for it. The dumb insects gave chase, drawn by the intoxicating scent he carried.


    ¡°Solas!¡± he screamed as a sting bit into his back. It felt like an icy cold keel piercing his body, followed by an unbearable burning agony.


    He killed half a dozen of them, hacking with his dagger in wild abandon as he dashed, claiming essence and sacrifices alike. But the numbers were too overwhelming for him to handle. Harrow needed to find a way to escape their pursuit¡ªand he needed to do it fast. It would be a lot easier if he could remove the nectar from his body.


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Iron Beetle.]


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Pincher Ant.]


    ...


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Hunter Bee.]


    He bolted through the looming woods, twisting and turning among the towering trees. The buzzing of bugs never ceased, nor did his heart stop pounding. Something bit into his shoulder, and he jerked it off, swinging the dagger. The distinctive crunch told him it was another beetle.


    Lactic acid built up in his lower muscles, spasming with burning indignation, but he didn¡¯t stop. He couldn¡¯t stop. The insects were still buzzing in his ears, still after him.


    Harrow wheezed, panted, and cursed, almost certain now that if anyone was overseeing the trial, they hated him. Because this kind of bad luck could only be intentional.


    They were probably having a blast, laughing at his expense.


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Hunter Bee.]


    ...


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Pincher Ant.]


    [Unformed Core: 3%]


    Pain ripped through his core like a landslide, eliciting a sharp groan. Harrow was in no potion to think about the Autarch''s wisdom. He already had enough problems to distract him from the agony. The power-up was welcomed. It drove away his exhaustion, and augmented his form in ways he barely figured out.


    Powered up, he dashed with renewed vigour. The thick forest gradually gave way to rough, rocky terrain. After a few moments, he discerned he was on a ridge, which likely led to a stream. Hopefully.


    The ridge was high¡ªabout a few metres¡ªbut not high enough to pose any mortal danger, even if he mistimed his jump. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t sure of that as he decided to jump. Then again, what choice did he have? At least his augmented body would help.


    He knew how to swim, though diving had never been an option he entertained. First time for everything!


    Somewhat relieved, he charged and vaulted into the stream, screaming at the top of his lungs.


    This was merely an hour into this madness, and Harrow was already exhausted, delirious, beaten, and screaming pathetically to no end. He didn¡¯t even know¡ªor care¡ªwhat horrors beyond his comprehension awaited him next.

 Book 1 | Chapter 06: Binding

    ¡°I hate trees,¡± Harrow said, spitting out a mouthful of water. He wiggled his limbs, shaking off droplets of water that clung to his body as he emerged. ¡°And ants, and beetles, and those cursed bees.¡±


    At least his thirst was sated. The torn clothes clung to his body¡ªwet, heavy, and uncomfortable. Good thing he hadn¡¯t suffered any new injuries from the dive. The water had rinsed most of the sticky nectar that had smeared his hands and body. Still, he¡¯d swum long enough, scrubbing at his skin to remove all trace of it.


    The intoxicating smell had mostly washed away, though a trace of riveting aroma still wafted from him. The lingering scent was more like a strong perfume. Hopefully, it wouldn¡¯t attract more unwanted bugs.


    The stings still ached, with patches of angry red spots, but they weren¡¯t as fatal as he had feared. He felt under the weather and quite lethargic. The progress in his core certainly helped with that. It might be crude maths, but he was easily twice stronger than he had ever been.


    Spotting a large, sun-warmed boulder on the riverbank, Harrow flopped down onto it, groaning as the hard surface pressed against his tired body. There were plenty of much smaller rocks scattered across the landscape. Towering trees loomed in the background, their branches swaying gently under the ominous sky. He rested, lifting his left arm into the air to shield his eyes from the sun¡¯s direct light.


    The steamy breeze curled around his wet clothes like a gentle caress. After a moment¡¯s thought, he pulled off his wet clothes and laid them out to dry.


    Harrow hadn¡¯t meditated in what felt like an eternity. Now, more than ever, he felt a need for calm, and only meditation could provide that. The space felt safe enough to try for a few minutes, but it was hard to clear his mind while he was still in pain. So he settled down for some rest and breathing exercises.


    His eyes wavered from time to time, while his stomach twisted in hunger. What I wouldn¡¯t do for a loaf of bread. Maybe some anaesthetics too.


    This should be a good time to bind the relic, he thought. The only reason he hadn¡¯t tried it the moment he learned it was a relic was because of the history related to it. Duskripper was something his father had left for him.


    Harrow didn¡¯t know the man enough to love or hate him, but the practical thought would be to bind the knife. Relics were, after all, beyond rare. On top of that, if he bound it, he wouldn¡¯t have to fear losing it.


    He considered losing it in the stream¡­ and felt binding would be the right option.


    Harrow had barely come to a decision when a loud croaking noise broke his train of thought.


    His mind snapped to attention, and he spun to find a large, fat, frog-like creature leaping out from the gnarled shrubs. With a few more leaps, it came straight towards him, ribbiting as it moved.


    He groaned and leapt to his feet, naked as the day he was born.


    The rotund red frog was nearly as tall as his waist, its skin greasy, reflecting the reddish glow of the sun. What worried Harrow more was when it opened its mouth wide to flick its long tongue in his direction. He lurched to his side, and thankfully, its lengthy tongue was unable to reach his skin. But its spit did.


    Most of the spit fell on the stone, but some grazed his arm. A sharp, burning sensation flared where it had touched him, as dark, wrinkly patches formed on his skin. Even the stone degraded a bit, white smoke rising from it.


    ¡°Tor¡¯s balls!¡±


    Harrow didn¡¯t check his swelling skin. Clutching the relic, he darted behind the large boulder to shield himself.


    The frog was huge, but it could certainly leap. Its tongue had an alarmingly long range. All he could do to avoid its advances was play a dangerous game of tag with it, ducking and running in a circle around the large boulder.


    He was merely trying to buy time at first, but soon he found the acid spit was growing slower and slower, while the ribbiting grew dire.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He didn¡¯t know how its acid was formed, but this suggested there was a limit to its production. Capitalising on that fact, Harrow lunged at the frog from behind, Duskripper pinning into its neck.


    The creature struggled as he began ripping the knife downwards, twisting in its path. It leapt, taking him along with it. Harrow didn¡¯t let it shove him aside. Only a few seconds more and he would be able to¡ª


    [Claiming Sacrifice!]


    [Essence Plundered.]


    [You have slain an unformed creature: Kerkhastic Frog.]


    The frog¡¯s corpse vanished into thick mist and a burst of light, dissipating into the air just like the other creatures had.


    ¡°You¡¯re not half bad,¡± he muttered, looking at the bloody knife.


    [Kerkhastic Frog¡¯s acid gland plundered.]


    [Hint: Alchemy material.]


    The gland was large enough to be a fistful¡ªnot that he took it in his hands after reading what it was. It was soiled, with slimy liquid oozing off it.


    ¡°Now what do I do with it?¡±


    First, Harrow slipped into his trousers, surveying his surroundings. He found no more frogs or any other creatures nearby.


    Collecting a few fallen leaves from the nearby trees, he rolled the leaves around the gland before tearing his cloth to make a cord out of it. Binding the leaf-wrapped gland, he stowed it away in his pocket.


    The stinging from the acid burn dulled, but his skin felt oddly numb instead of its usual awareness.


    ¡°Monster plants, giant bugs, acid frogs. What else am I going to encounter next?¡±


    Finally, he turned his attention to the relic.


    To bind it, or not?


    The process was irreversible as far as he knew, so there was no undoing it. The choice was troublesome because if he bound one relic now, he wouldn¡¯t be able to bind another for a long time. There were some stipulations--a soul restriction too perhaps--that didn''t let an awakened bind more than one relic unless their soul was strong enough.


    I¡¯ll consider my survival first, before thinking about ascending.


    With the decision made, Harrow wasted no time cutting his palm, concentrating his willpower on connecting with the weapon.


    [Would you like to bind Duskripper to yourself: Y | N?]


    The voice of order came sooner than he had hoped. Harrow faltered for a moment before accepting it.


    Heat rose from his blood and the relic, as warm air swirled around him in a flood. A sudden thrust crashed him onto the ground, face down, utterly powerless against the working force.


    The dagger remained in his palm until smoke wafted out of it. Misty light ignited, and it dissolved much like the creatures he had slain. Unlike the dead creatures, the misty light drove straight into his chest. His awareness expanded.


    It took a moment or two for him to return to lucidity, and when he did, he could feel the weapon within him. It was an organ, much like a limb.


    A stray thought of summoning it occurred to him, and it appeared in his palm, materialising in shimmering mist.


    Harrow whistled.


    He dismissed it and re-summoned it repeatedly, becoming familiar with the motion. Satisfied with shuffling between summoning and dismissing, he left it in his palm, thinking about the dangers this wilderness posed.


    Now if only I can find something to fill my stomach.


    Harrow hurried beside the banks before trudging through a dense undergrowth. He spotted giant ants crawling up in the trees. Briefly, he considered killing a few more, maybe grinding for some more growth. Giant ants weren¡¯t much of a threat, not without a swarming colony.


    He did kill a few, but he even barely felt the harvested essence. All the running and fighting had left him famished. Oddly enough, the awakening seemed to intensify the hunger rather than alleviate it. The search continued.


    Harrow found the remains of the rose hunter before anything edible. Its body was completely gone, but the entrancing smell remained.


    A dozen bugs still lingered, their movements sluggish from intoxication. The nectar oozing from his body had all but dried up, so none targeted him. He dispatched a few insectoids until the rest scattered into the trees, barely feeling any change in his core.


    It seemed he needed to face more dangerous creatures to speed up the process. Is that what the trial wants from me?


    On that note, a creature¡¯s rank didn¡¯t always reflect the true threat it posed. An unformed dear will always be prey to an unformed wolf.


    It¡¯s their nature that matters, he guessed.


    Harrow returned to the path along the stream¡ªthe opposite direction this time. It was more open than the wilderness and offered a clear view of anything that might assault him. Not to mention the easy source of water.


    Soon enough, he stumbled upon another large red frog. Only this one was already locked in a fierce battle with a badger.


    Taking shelter behind a nearby tree, he peered at their fight. The Ironclaw Badger was small¡ªbarely half the size of the frog¡ªand seemed weaker too, and yet it was actually winning. Ignoring the searing burns from the frog¡¯s acidic venom, the badger attacked with savage ferocity, raking its claws across the amphibian¡¯s face.


    They fought with everything they had, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was watching from the shadows.


    Finally, some fortune on my path.

 Book 1 | Chapter 07: New Skill

    With the knife in hand, Harrow waited patiently, watchful of the battle unfolding before his eyes. The more the foul creatures injured each other, the easier it would be for him to take them down.


    The giant frog could barely keep up, purple liquid oozing from multiple wounds, while the badger grew in ferocity with each assault, attempting to finish its foe as swiftly as it could.


    Really missing a bow and arrows, he thought. Shooting from a distance would have made everything so much easier. But he had to make do with what he had.


    Harrow had no trust in his sneakiness, so he dashed into their battle, knife raised in a reverse grip to end the badger. The frog was finished, either way. The real threat was the iron-clawed badger.


    Much to his delight, the badger was too focused on tearing into the frog to notice his approach. By the time it did, it was a fraction too late. The blade embedded itself into its neck just as the creature turned.


    It let out a guttural screech, its claws sharp as knife-edges raking wildly. The badger wasn¡¯t dead yet, but the more it struggled to free itself, the worse the wound became.


    Its body was already in bad shape from the acid burns, and now blood bubbled out, staining it further. It managed to rake its claws across Harrow¡¯s skin, drawing blood, until Harrow somehow claimed Sacrifice with his mind.


    He had been doing it before with help from the Primordial Order, but after bonding, he could use the feature at will. The binding left him intrinsically aware of its capabilities.


    Warmth rose in his chest from the plundered essence, while the predator¡¯s body squirmed and collapsed onto the ground.


    The frog let out a deep ribbit¡ªfear of missing out, perhaps. Harrow took mercy on its broken form and ended its misery with another Sacrifice. Both corpses vanished moments later, prompting him to wait for the good news.


    [You have slain Unformed creatures: Ironclaw Badger, Karkhastic Frog.]


    [Plundered: Uncommon Skill Matrix. Karkhastic Frog¡¯s Acidic Venom Gland.]


    Is it...? His heart skipped a beat, hoping it was what he thought. Ignoring the ominous-looking organ, he picked up the small amber crystal, inspecting it closely.


    [Would you like to assimilate the Skill, Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon)?]


    [Y | N]


    Harrow inhaled sharply. It wasn¡¯t a Common skill but Uncommon rank¡ªa farmer¡¯s entire year¡¯s earnings wouldn¡¯t be enough to buy something like this. Of course, it would have been the jewel of the crown if it were combat-oriented, but considering the sheer number of venomous creatures he¡¯d encountered thus far into this madness, it might save him more time than any combat skill could.


    Even if he had other choices, Toxin Tolerance seemed like a necessity. He could fight monsters with a dagger, but he couldn¡¯t fight toxins. Not without the skill.


    With that, he accepted the prompt.


    The next moment, he was on the ground once again, writhing in an agony far surpassing any improvement to his core. The Uncommon attribute took longer to integrate as well, producing another round of bile in his stomach. He settled himself, gritting his teeth, knowing every bit of it was worth it.


    [Skill gained: Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon) +1]


    [Your tolerance to all kinds of toxins grows stronger.]


    "Whew!" he jerked his head to the side and puked. Feeling the churn in his stomach subside, he summoned his Profile, staring into the Challenger mark in his palm.


    Skills [2/8]:


    - Cloak of Night (Elite): +1


    - Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +1


    Not much had changed, but a grin split his face as he looked at the new skill. He had already endured so much, at least he got something out of it.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Now, with this skill, he might even be able to become a poison tester for some reputable nobles.


    But Harrow did not want his life to take that route. He would be delighted to become an adventurer. He didn¡¯t have much of a knightly visage, not to mention the constraints that came with knighthood. As much as he liked knights¡ªperhaps worshipping them in his heart¡ªhe couldn¡¯t see himself being one. Not that it was ever easy to become one.


    The truth of the matter was that he could become nothing if he didn¡¯t get out of this. Whatever this trial was supposed to be, Harrow would have to pass it. Only then could he work towards his little dream.


    His stomach growled in hunger, cutting to the most pressing issue. Collecting the gland as he had with the other one, Harrow hit the path once again in search of food.


    The forest was teeming with wildlife, even if the sun cast a rather ominous light over it. There had to be some edible fruits. It had predators like the giant serpent, there were bound to be prey like deer, rabbits, and other animals. That meant there would be berries and fruits as well.


    ****


    <hr>


    Harrow gobbled his fourth melon with the same intensity as the first, as though he¡¯d been starving for a week. It sure felt like it after all the hours it had taken to find them.


    It had been a lengthy search, but he eventually found a place for the night and fruits and vegetables to satisfy his hunger.


    The berries tasted like crap¡ªbitter and acrid, probably a result of the sun¡ªbut at least they weren¡¯t poisonous. he devoured them quickly, the sour taste lingering on his tongue. They filled his stomach. That was all that mattered.


    There was no shortage of edible fruits. Hundreds of papaya plants, vines of wild berries, and melons spread across rows and columns. He might have considered it a well-cultivated farm if not for the roughness of the land and plants. Still, it looked like it had once been farmland, although it hadn¡¯t been tended in years.


    A rundown hovel sat at the edge of the field, its weathered walls barely visible through the undergrowth.


    Why is there abandoned farmland in the middle of this horrific wood? He didn¡¯t rack his brain over the question.


    At least he wouldn¡¯t have to spend the night outdoors. The woods were menacing enough in the daytime, who knew what horrors it might conjure up at night?


    The sun would set in a few hours, and only then he realised it hadn¡¯t moved at all in the sky. Lifting his head to check, he found it still at its zenith, glowing like a smouldering ball of flame. Harrow was too uneducated¡ªor perhaps too simple¡ªto deduce a reason for such an unnatural phenomenon. It was another question that might fry his skull if he lingered on it.


    Satisfying his hunger, he turned his attention to his belongings: the root essence and acidic venom glands. His gaze lingered on the glands as he considered infecting himself to test his new skill. It might even help advance its progression.


    After surveying the remaining daylight, Harrow decided not to lose his wits just yet. In a few hours, he could familiarise himself with both of his skills. For now, though¡­


    He considered resting. But the image of the twisting great serpent played in his mind, a vivid reminder of the threats lurking around. He didn¡¯t believe Duskripper alone could take down something like that¡ªnot with how weak he still was. Sacrifice only triggered when an enemy was powerless.


    There are still too many things that could kill me, he thought. No, resting isn¡¯t an option when there¡¯s still long hours of daylight left. I need to hunt some more¡­ empower myself.


    Now that he¡¯d seen that gaining skills was possible, it would be foolish to be satisfied with just two of them when he could have all eight.


    Maybe one of the creatures will drop something useful, he mused, drifting back into the woods.


    The trees did not thin as Harrow crept deeper into the forest. The stale wind and dry, humid atmosphere left him uncomfortable, but being comfortable was the least of his concerns. The forest was menacing, and so were the creatures that roamed within it.


    Harrow needed to be sharp to hunt the hunters.


    A few minutes later, Harrow faltered on the path, his instincts prickling at a disturbance ahead. The source of the disturbance soon revealed itself: a hyena almost waist-high. A hungry, savage hyena. Thankfully, it hadn¡¯t discovered him yet. Harrow flinched at the sight of the creature and immediately ducked behind a bush.


    Despite his newfound powers, Harrow knew he couldn¡¯t match the beast in pure physical strength. Perhaps he could win the battle of wits, but that wouldn¡¯t matter if the hyena managed to sink its teeth into his throat.


    He eased his breathing, trying to remain as silent as possible. Sadly, the hyena had keen senses. It sniffed the air, turned its head sharply, and growled in his direction¡ªstraight at the bush concealing him.


    Before Harrow could curse, it was upon him, bolting towards him in a blur.


    ¡°Tor¡¯s balls!¡±


    Lurching to his feet, Harrow prepared himself as best he could. His mind raced as the beast closed the distance, its maw opening wide to reveal jagged teeth glistening with saliva.


    Outrunning it was hopeless, so he didn¡¯t even try. He could only hope to outmanoeuvre it in a direct confrontation. His sole weapon, as always, was his dagger.


    The hyena lunged, and before he could fully react, Harrow was slammed to the ground. His head struck the earth hard. The predator loomed over him, its fangs snapping dangerously close to his neck.


    Not just fast, but strong too. His mind chilled as he plunged his dagger upward in a desperate arc. He felt resistance as the blade met flesh¡ªa small victory¡ªbut the beast did not relent. Blood flowed freely from its side, mingling with the saliva dripping from its mouth.


    Harrow summoned all his strength and smashed his elbow into the hyena¡¯s face, gaining only a momentary reprieve. It was relentless, its jaws closing the gap inch by inch.


    Time was running out.


    Fear clawed at his mind, but with it came a surge of adrenaline. Madness seared through his thoughts as he jerked sharply to the left, twisting the dagger as he yanked it upward, carving a jagged cut into the creature¡¯s side.


    The hyena howled in pain but remained undeterred, its fangs sinking into his left arm. Harrow screamed, but with his free arm, he yanked the dagger free and plunged it again.


    This time up right into the beast¡¯s neck.

 Book 1 | Chapter 08: Cloak of Night

    The hyena¡¯s body convulsed violently as blood gushed from the wound. Its teeth slackened, and with one final, gurgling growl, its struggle waned.


    Finally, Sacrifice was triggered. Harrow gasped for breath, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His bitten arm spasmed in torment, warm blood trickling from the punctures the hyena had left behind. Yet he plunged the dagger into the defeated foe unrelentingly, unable to register that he had already won. Blood cascaded on him, as the lifeless creature melted into shimmering mist.


    Harrow lay there momentarily, bathing in warm blood, staring at the canopy above.


    [You have slain an Unformed creature: Dire Hyena.]


    [Unformed Core: 4/100]


    [Plundered: Common Grade Skill Matrix.]


    Having gone through the process twice before, Harrow found the pain in his body subsided. Perhaps the other pain dulled it. It didn¡¯t heal the wound, nor could it close the deep bite marks or torn flesh. The bleeding slowed, though it still throbbed horribly.


    Harrow sat up, clutching his arm. Setting his jaw, he tore his tunic further to wrap around the wound. Only after binding the cloth tightly did he inspect the glowing crystal left behind by the hyena. It was a red one, smaller, and like the other one, he couldn''t tell the difference from a normal gem of the same colour.


    [Would you like to assimilate the Skill: Bestial Reflexes (Common)?]


    [Y | N]


    Harrow accepted it without hesitation. Even though it was the lowest rank, anything was better than nothing. The battle against the beast had proved that.


    As the pain in his arm receded to the background, a new wave of agony consumed him. The skill began integrating, and his body writhed on the forest floor. He clenched his teeth and endured. No bile rose this time, much to his relief.


    When the pain passed, he pulled up his [Profile].


    Skills [3/8]:


    Cloak of Night (Elite): +1


    Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +1


    Enhanced Reflexes (Common): +1


    After what he had been through, Harrow couldn¡¯t bring himself to smile. Only a sense of relief washed over him--that he was alive. The threat to his life had passed.


    Gingerly, he stood and hurried away. Yes, he had gained a new skill¡ªa skill that could help in combat¡ªbut that didn''t change the fact that he was still injured, and the forest remained teeming with danger.


    The ominous sun loomed, unmoving, staring creepily from its position. As the hours passed, its intensity lessened, and a cloak of darkness covered the wilderness. The buzzing of bugs cut through the still air, and their cacophony only rose from there.


    Harrow returned to the abandoned farmhouse he had found, carefully avoiding any dangers along the way. The sun now twinkled like a crimson moon, its tainted radiance barely enough to see by. Navigating back to the farmhouse wasn¡¯t difficult, but it took time.


    Finally, he decided to work on his skills before even attempting to make a fire.


    Activating the skill was easier said than done, though. At least for the first time. Apparently, it was much harder for newly awakened individuals to succeed in their initial attempts unless the skill was physical in nature, like Kash¡¯s [Light Finger].


    Harrow¡¯s [Bestial Reflexes] would likely activate easily, and [Toxin Tolerance] would trigger automatically if he ingested anything toxic. It was [Cloak of Night] that worried him. Common rank skills were the easiest. It became a little difficult from Uncommon, while Elite skill''s usage of essence made it even more arduous. Ambitious.


    But he wouldn¡¯t know unless he tried.


    Skills were supposedly like relics, functioning as extensions of the body, though not often as physical manifestations.


    As he had done with the relic, Harrow concentrated on the skill. He visualised how he wanted it to manifest. He imagined it enveloping his body in tendrils of darkness, weaving together into a cloak. He imagined its form, in its full uncanny glory.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Something stirred within him. Goosebumps prickled his skin, accompanied by a sudden chill that spread all over his body. Heat rose in his chest to combat the cold. Once again, Harrow felt his core¡ªa swirl of essence, twirling with power. It seemed as solid as it could be in its unformed state, though fragile nonetheless.


    As he had hoped, darkness enveloped him¡ªnot just as a cloak, but shrouding his entire body, mirroring the night. His form easily blended into the night. Yet the oddest sensation was how detached he felt from the outside world.


    The [Cloak of Night] was like a little world of its own, insulating him from external influences.


    The cloak of night hides you, empowers you, and restores you.


    Harrow couldn''t wait to test its empowering effect, but first, he needed to determine how effective it was at restoring him. The skill stopped his wound from bleeding immediately, freezing the blood swiftly. Yet it fell short of proper healing.


    True healing skills are rare, he thought with a sigh, a bit disappointed. Especially those capable of instant recovery.


    He hoped it would be like Sister Serena¡¯s [Mending], which was merely an uncommon rank skill, yet could heal wounds almost instantly, provided they weren¡¯t too serious. Again, it proved how highly sought-after healing skills were. Awakened individuals with such abilities were protected under the emperor¡¯s decree. They even get a healthy stipend, along with a full scholarship in the awakened academies.


    [Cloak of Night] was like a first-aid at best. To abate his disappointment, Harrow tested its other function.


    He tested it by sprinting and was surprised by his speed. His lunge hurled him three or four metres into the air, nearly reaching the top of the farmhouse. He could tell that a part of the augmentation came from [Bestial Reflexes], but the majority of it was due to the elite-rank skill.


    After running around for a quarter of an hour, Harrow was finally satisfied with his testing. He had expected the skill to deplete his essence quickly, given its rank, but again, he was surprised by how little energy it consumed.


    After further usage, he realised it used about as much energy as his common-rank skill.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because I can only use it during the night.¡±


    Since the skill didn¡¯t consume much energy, Harrow indulged in more practice, forgetting about making a fire. The cold didn¡¯t affect him with the cloak activated, and it also allowed him to hide from any nocturnal predators if there were any.


    An hour into his practice, the divine voice echoed in his ears.


    [Cloak of Night (Elite): +2]


    A short while later, the voice spoke again, this time for a different skill.


    [Bestial Reflexes (Common): +2]


    The improvements were the only encouragement he needed. He began practising with his knife, attempting to adapt the sword forms he had learned. To his frustration, he found himself unable to control most of the forms.


    No, it wasn''t because they were useless with a dagger. It would be less efficient, but still better than nothing. The issue lay in controlling his new strength.


    He had a hard time stopping himself if he were to exert most of his power. Harrow knew it wouldn¡¯t help to practise with reduced power. In battle, he would need to use his full strength. So, instead of slowing his movements, he practised without holding back.


    His body became a blur of shadows, nearly invisible in the tainted light as he repeated the same forms over and over, calibrating his movements to his augmented power.


    [Bestial Reflexes (Common): +3]


    [Bestial Reflexes (Common): +4]


    A few hours later, Harrow discovered why [Cloak of Night] consumed so little energy. The ¡°restore¡± mentioned in its description didn¡¯t refer to healing, as he had initially assumed, not entirely, but rather to the restoration of essence. When he wasn¡¯t moving, the skill restored almost as much essence as it consumed. As his mastery over the skill improved, the restoration rate increased further.


    [Cloak of Night (Elite): +3]


    His progress wasn¡¯t limited to skills alone.


    [Unformed Core: 5/100]


    At this rate, I might be able to rank up within a couple of weeks, he thought. That would require him to fight more monsters, however. The more ferocious the better. While improving skills did contribute to his core, nothing compared to the tithe of essence harvested from slain beasts.


    On that thought, Harrow began to seriously consider hunting monsters right this instance. In a few hours, he wouldn¡¯t be able to use [Cloak of Night], its empowering effect would wane, and he would become easy prey for creatures like the hyena, which almost ended him.


    But with the skill, he felt confident he could take down the hyena and perhaps more¡ªeven without the aid of Sacrifice.


    Looking up at the dimming sun¡ªor moon¡ªHarrow bolted into the wilderness, cursing under his breath. I¡¯ve really gone mad, Solas!


    Hunting at night proved easier said than done. The forest buzzed with the noise of nocturnal creatures, the cacophony of insects assaulting his ears from all sides. After a short struggle, Harrow realised he could mute the noise using his elite rank skill--like how it could isolate chilly wind and coldness--though he refrained for obvious reasons.


    For half an hour, he searched without much success. He spotted several enormous bats flying overhead but chose not to antagonise them, mulling over the advantage aerial creatures held.


    The real issue was visibility. Monsters couldn¡¯t see him in the darkness, and neither could he see them. He wasn¡¯t reckless enough to deactivate his skill and use himself as bait. He was not completely insane.


    Wait, bait! he thought suddenly. Why didn¡¯t I think of that sooner?


    Without hesitation, Harrow hunted down the aggravating giant bugs in his vicinity. They didn¡¯t yield much essence, but that wasn¡¯t his goal. He didn¡¯t use Sacrifice on them either, instead scattering their scarred bodies across the area and smearing their blood over a two-hundred-metre radius.


    The task took longer than he thought. Now, all that remained was to wait and see if his plan would bear fruit.

 Book 1 | Chapter 09: Sleepless Night

    On his first night in the wilderness, Harrow learned a couple of important things. Nights were unusually long in this realm. Secondly, hyenas had keener senses than your average coyote. Far more savage too.


    Lightning rushed through his mind as he exerted all his strength, ramming the dagger deeper into a hyena''s skull. Red, hot blood oozed from the wounds. For one last time, the beast howled, its clawing waning its work on his dark cloak.


    Harrow had no time to utilise Sacrifice, as another one of its companions crashed into him, its savage claw tearing through the [Cloak of Night]. Pain struck as soon as it grazed his skin, but it wasn¡¯t anything unique, since he had been enduring it for some time now.


    The hyena had thrown him onto the ground, its claw raking his skin without missing a beat. Harrow rammed a stammering kick into its abdomen, forcing it away, when another one attacked. He twisted his body to intercept it and was thrown to the ground again, only this time he managed to plunge the dagger into its body.


    Sadly, he only found purchase on its side. Suppressing a groan with gritted teeth, Harrow yanked the blade free and rammed it into a more critical place: the underside of its jaw.


    [Cloak of Night] did not consume much energy when utilised normally, but under the duress of so many beasts, it was being torn apart and damaged non-stop. It was consuming far more energy than it restored. The only reason Harrow could keep it on was the essence he plundered from his defeated foes.


    It was also the reason he could continue fighting without rest.


    The rabid beast weakened, and this time he triggered Sacrifice. But Harrow couldn¡¯t waste even a breath to see the satisfying look of the creature disappearing. He slipped beneath its body before it melted away into a burst of light and mist.


    The other hyena shot at him again, having no fear for its life. Harrow glided under it, swiping the dagger to draw blood. It howled with a large cut on its underside. The beast probably would have died of prolonged blood loss.


    Harrow ended it by slitting its throat. Hot blood rushed out, smearing his cloaked arms, though it did not linger on his body.


    [You have slain five Unformed Hyenas.]


    [Unformed Core: 7/100]


    [Plundered: Common Skill Matrix.]


    [Bestial Reflexes (Common): +8]


    [Cloak of Night (Elite): +5]


    Harrow gasped for breath, lying flat next to the beast. This was far deadlier than the first encounter he¡¯d had with a hyena. And yet it felt less stressful. A couple of good skills surely made a lot of difference. Though he could not deny that without the relic, the whole endeavour would have been impossibly difficult.


    ¡°I wonder how those people advance within a week,¡± he couldn¡¯t help but think. He had been fighting beasts and killing them all night and had barely reached 7% completion. Progress was supposed to get more demanding the higher an Awakened went.


    Shaking his head at those discouraging thoughts, he checked on his loot. The first hyena didn¡¯t drop anything, but the others did: two red gems. He didn¡¯t even prod for their details before bolting away from the open.


    Securing himself under a gnarled tree, he finally checked the loot and shook his head.


    [Skill: Bestial Reflexes (Common)]


    [Skill: Bestial Reflexes (Common)]


    The same skill again, he thought in distraught, before storing them with the others he had collected throughout the night. Counting these two, he now had seven of them. He¡¯d gotten two from a large pack of coyotes, and all the rest came from the hyenas.


    It was funny how he had agonised over skills just a few hours ago, and now he had seven skill crystals, albeit of the same type.


    Harrow held the dagger before his eyes as a stray thought occurred to him. There was no way his father¡ªwho had left him the relic¡ªdidn¡¯t know about its functions. Could it be that he left it knowing I would have to face this ordeal?


    Is he the reason I am facing the ordeal? His clutch on the weapon tightened. Harrow clenched and unclenched his jaw.


    A high-pitched screech brought him out of his thoughts.


    A humongous bat, its body spanning over a metre long without its wiry wings spread, swooped down and began devouring the hyenas he hadn¡¯t fed to his weapon. It wasn¡¯t the first time one of them came after the bait. The first creatures to tug at his baits were bats, but Harrow didn¡¯t mess with them, considering their evident advantage. On top of that, bats were scary. Simply staring into their eyes made his blood grow cold.


    Then again, after fighting almost the whole night, Harrow only had seven common skill crystals to show for it, which he couldn¡¯t even use.


    Looking at the bat¡¯s eyes as it gobbled up the hyena, he was almost certain it would give a different skill.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    With that thought, Harrow crept behind the creature, utilizing the [Cloak of Night] to its fullest. He didn¡¯t believe the quick decision he came to had much to do with the revelation he had a moment ago, nor did he think it was rash.


    It was a completely rational decision to gather as many skills as possible to empower himself.


    Harrow lunged at the creature, weapon drawn. The bat faltered mid-meal, and spread its wiry limbs. It craned its neck, eyes glaring red.


    The ascended relic pierced into the bat¡¯s wing. The creature tried to flap it away, trying to deflect, which only caused the wing to rupture. It shrieked, lunging at him, its filthy maw already munching on flesh, opened to bite him.


    Harrow smashed his other fist into the side of its head. He thought that would deflect its assault, which it did, but it also did more than he intended. The bat crashed onto the ground from the impact of the punch.


    Was I fearing them for no reason? Before the answer came, the bat flapped its wings, preparing to withdraw, or use the aerial route to its advantage.


    No, you are not going anywhere!


    Harrow leapt to clutch its leg, and yanked, using his weight to anchor it down. Unfortunately, the bat was huge and managed to carry him a metre or two into the air before its ruptured wings restricted it from flying further.


    Jerking wildly as he hung on, he brought the beast down, crashing it into a tree. The monster was already muddleheaded and only managed a shriek when his blade into its chest.


    That did it. The bat fell, screeching in existential agony. Sacrifice triggered, and Harrow didn''t need to exert any more force. He watched as the horrifying creature, terrifying enough to instil fear in his heart, melted into the fog.


    [You have slain an Unformed creature: Cavern Bat.]


    I guess perspective matters, he thought. Although it was intimidating to look at, the bat was nothing more than a huge winged mouse.


    [Plundered: Common Skill Matrix.]


    Another red gem. Harrow picked it up, praying inwardly for it to be something other than [Bestial Reflexes].


    [Would you like to assimilate the skill: Nocturnal Vision?]


    [Y | N]


    He raised an eyebrow. I guess, why not?


    Thankfully, the prompt wasn¡¯t accepted immediately. Harrow quickly withdrew to somewhere safer, far away from the mess he created, before confirming his choice.


    Pain he was prepared for, and it consumed him, though it wasn¡¯t as intense as the first time. He thought it would end there, but that was where he made a mistake. An impaling throb torched his eyes, horrible and incessant. He was unable to suppress his scream.


    Tears fell from his eyes as tiny, bug-like creatures crawled within them¡ªor at least, that was how it felt. Harrow controlled the overwhelming urge to poke at his eyes, and kill those creatures that were tormenting him, but it would only worsen the agony.


    Shutting his eyes tightly lessened the pain, and soon it dulled entirely. Then, the relieving voice of the Primordial Order rang out.


    [Skill gained: Nocturnal Vision (Common): +1]


    Controlling his ragged breathing, he tentatively opened his eyes. The world had changed since the last time they were open. If he¡¯d thought a common skill wouldn¡¯t make much of a difference, he was utterly wrong.


    Not only could he now see everything near-perfectly in his vicinity, but his vision had also shifted to a monochrome view. He hoped this effect was only evident during the night. If his sight remained like this all the time, he feared he¡¯d lose his mind.


    I¡¯ll figure that out soon enough, he thought.


    No more packs of hyenas came, but he did hunt down a couple of foxes before the sun suddenly rose. Almost like an essence lamp, it flared to life too abruptly, piercing through the thick mist and fog.


    [Cloak of Night] shut off, its shadowy substance peeling away from his body like water slipping off taro leaves. The harder he tried to cling to the skill, the more energy it consumed. In the end, all the improvement he made in this single night wasn''t enough.


    His clothes were smeared with blood, though hardly any of it had come from his own body while the cloak had been active.


    7% progress seems good enough for the first day, he thought, carrying a dead fox over his shoulder. Whom am I kidding, 7% is outright crazy. A third of that would have been his goal if he was in his ideal position. But you know what they say, threat to one''s life was a great motivator.


    He planned to have the fox skinned and roast it if he could. Fruit and berries were fine, but his body needed a fair share of meat¡ªAwakened beast meat, no less. It was so expensive that he¡¯d only eaten it once in his life. Living in the orphanage had made him pretty much a herbivore.


    Well, soon it¡¯ll be twice.


    This wilderness was full of Awakened beasts. Even the lowliest creatures were Awakened, albeit Unformed. Only the great serpent he¡¯d glimpsed for a brief moment had likely gone through Formation. Perhaps it was even beyond that.


    Honestly, he was too hungry and uneducated to dwell on it.


    Half an hour later, he was back in the abandoned farmland and began preparing the fox for roasting. Having worked a couple of years under the local butcher, skinning it posed no trouble. The cooking part, however...


    He knew a few things about cooking, which prompted him to gather some fruits and berries for seasoning. He¡¯d heard that unripe papaya extracts could soften meat. It worked with regular meat, whether it would have any effect on Awakened meat, he was about to find out.


    Making fire was easier than he thought. Grating the dagger onto a smooth stone created sparks. He only needed some dry leaves from there.


    Whistling poorly, he set the meat over the fire and watched with unabashed enthusiasm. There were small joys in the act, even if he wasn¡¯t particularly skilled at it. If the meat turned out bad, it would be his fault alone. But there wouldn¡¯t be anyone around to berate him.


    Solas, he thought, is this what it feels like to be grown up?


    Harrow was minding his own business, occasionally checking on the meat, licking his lips, when he sensed a disturbance behind him. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the thick undergrowth. He could see the gnarled bush moving, but before he go and check, something flew out of it.


    A small object darted through the air, moving at a terrifying speed. Harrow tried to duck, but it struck his torso with a sharp sting.


    He yanked it free and found a dart. A wave of cold spread through his neck almost instantly. His expression turned ugly as utter terror gripped him.


    A man rose from the bushes, holding a long-piped blowgun. He cackled, the sound jarring in the stillness. The pot-bellied man stood about twenty metres away, grinning wickedly, malice in his eyes. He aimed again, firing another dart¡ªthis one into Harrow¡¯s neck. Harrow saw it coming, but his body was too slow to react.


    A deep, crushing weakness overwhelmed him, and he fell to his knees.


    Paralysing drugs? His thoughts raced. Will Toxin Tolerance work against these?


    ¡°The Lord has finally shown me his favour,¡± the man snickered, his voice drawing nearer. ¡°This lad will last a week if I keep him hidden from the others¡­¡±


    Harrow¡¯s vision blurred, his head growing heavy. He could hear the man muttering, but the words didn¡¯t register. But he knew for sure whatever his captor planned, it wouldn¡¯t be good. He knew that look all too clearly.


    Helpless, he collapsed, and could only hope his skill could somehow neutralise whatever had been injected with. Then, darkness claimed him.

 Book 1 | Chapter 10: Price of Freedom

    A spitting migraine impaled his mind as Harrow found himself bedridden in a dark room. His little room in the orphanage? A figure sat beside him, just as she had when he was young, whenever he suffered from a fever. Sister Serena? he croaked, yet no words came out of his mouth.


    Is this a dream?


    Harrow tried harder, rising up, and then his eyes fluttered open.


    The first sensation he registered was darkness. Cold, murky darkness--it was all around him. Then he realised he was being transported, slung over someone¡¯s shoulder, jostled with each heavy step. They hadn¡¯t noticed he was awake yet.


    The "they" in question was presumably the same round man who had shot him with those poisoned darts.


    [Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +4]


    Harrow was free of the poison now¡ªat least, he felt free¡ªbut the real problem was just beginning. He was far from escaping the clutches of the man who had captured him. Although his consciousness returned, his whole body seething through weakness. His core was almost completely depleted, barely any strand of essence left in his body.


    His arms were bound together, and he assumed the same for his legs, though he refrained from making even the slightest movement lest it alert his abductor. Coldness clawed at his chest as his heartbeat quickened.


    Calm down, don¡¯t panic! he told himself firmly. Panicking would only make things worse. First, he needed to assess the situation.


    Thankfully, he could still feel the reassuring presence of Duskripper with him.


    With a hesitant prod at his core, Harrow drew what little essence he was left with towards his eyes, activating [Nocturnal Vision]. His sight sharpened instantly in a monochromatic view, revealing tunnel-like pathways extending ahead. The downward incline made him suspect he was underground, likely in a cavern system.


    Where is he taking me? The answer came unbidden, chilling his heart: To his friends.


    Harrow needed to act fast if he wanted to save himself. Even one more enemy would make escaping near impossible.


    The path was eerily quiet, with a faint dampness in the air. The stone walls on either side were smooth enough to suggest they¡¯d been carved rather than naturally formed.


    The man had the long-piped blowgun strapped at his waist, along with a small quiver full of darts. A sheathed machete hung at his side. While on the other shoulder, he carried the roasted fox. Harrow wondered how quickly the man could equip a weapon if it came to a fight.


    Without making a sound, Harrow played through his plan in his mind. He would only get one chance, so it was vital to visualise every possible outcome. The man was likely more powerful than he was, which eliminated the option of him fighting fairly. Harrow couldn¡¯t rely on brute strength and expect to win.


    The plan was to hit hard and fast, taking full advantage of his first move. Speed and suddenness were his advantage.


    Harrow shifted his bound arms ever so slightly, moving them out of the man¡¯s direct line of sight. His captor¡¯s large, round frame made it easier to go unnoticed, yet he made sure to cover his arm with his body. Harrow was acutely aware this was his only chance.


    Perhaps he¡¯d given the man too much credit. The abductor noticed nothing until Harrow summoned Duskripper between his palms. Harrow had just begun sawing through the cord binding his wrists when the man shouted:


    ¡°You little shit!¡±


    Harrow abandoned the cord, flipped the obsidian dagger over, and jerked his body downwards, plunging the blade into the man¡¯s side.


    Essence flowed into Harrow at once, washing away some of his lingering weakness. Unfortunately, before he could deal another blow, the man threw him off, leaving the relic still lodged in his body.


    Harrow willed Duskripper to withdraw. Blood gushed out from the wound as the blade dissolved into mist and reformed in his hand. He struggled against the cord binding his wrists, attempting to tear it apart through brute strength.


    As dark mist coalesced around his palm, the man rammed into him like a wrecking ball.


    Harrow tumbled, unable to balance with his legs tied. The man pinned him down, which, ironically, worked in Harrow¡¯s favour. As Duskripper fully manifested in his grasp, Harrow shoved it into the man wherever he could find an opening. Fortunately, the easiest target was his face. He missed the man¡¯s eye by an inch.


    The man let out a bloodcurdling scream as the dagger dug into the side of his nose.


    ¡°My face! His fucking face!¡± the man bellowed, clutching at his blistered, bloody face. His eyes bulged and turned bloodshot as he writhed on the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you! I¡¯ll fucking kill you!¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The two wounds should have weakened him, but somehow he seemed to grow more berserk. How the man was still moving, Harrow couldn¡¯t comprehend.


    Harrow¡¯s expression turned grim as he considered fleeing. If the man recovered, Harrow would stand no chance. He was easily stronger. Yet, before Harrow could free himself, the man hurtled towards him again, screaming like a madman.


    This asshole won¡¯t leave me alive if he gets his bearings. Harrow realised the best option was to ensure he never did.


    Instinct took over. Harrow stepped sideways to avoid the attack. The man drew his weapon¡ªa machete radiating a malevolent greenish light.


    Then, an idea struck Harrow. It¡¯s dark all around us. Perhaps¡­


    He visualised the dark cloak enveloping him, shielding him from all sides. The essence in his core stirred, though he felt a stronger resistance preventing the skill from fully materialising.


    I don¡¯t need it to fully materialise, Harrow thought grimly.


    Murky darkness manifested in Harrow¡¯s arms, bolstering his strength, and for a moment, he felt strong enough to clash with the wounded man. He pulled more essence into the skill, all he could muster, narrowly dodging the ominous machete that swung dangerously close.


    ¡°Stay still, little twat!¡±


    Harrow pushed his [Bestial Reflexes] to their limits, channelling the empowering effect of [Cloak of Night] into his limbs. Even so, he could only avoid the attacks, unable to land any of his own. The bastard had too many years of experience and cunning on his side.


    In the end, Harrow could only fight back with equal cunning. He exchanged blow for blow, ensuring that any attack he took merely grazed his skin. That, however, proved far more difficult than he anticipated.


    He feigned exhaustion, luring the man into overconfidence. The man, already delirious from blood loss, took the bait. Perhaps a straightforward attack would have sufficed, but foolishly, Harrow attempted a sword feint with his dagger. The man¡¯s devious grin made him second-guess his plan, but it was too late to withdraw.


    Following through, Harrow altered Duskripper¡¯s trajectory, aiming not for the man¡¯s torso but his knee. Thankfully, the man didn¡¯t see the feint coming. He assumed Harrow was desperate to end things quickly, and would attack a vital spot. So when he braced his arm to intercept the fetal blow, what he got was a devastating strike to his kneecap.


    He collapsed onto one knee, a guttural scream escaping his lips. Harrow withdrew from the shallow cut on his shoulder. A sudden chilliness spread from the wound. Almost immediately, [Toxin Tolerance] activated, warding off the chill. Even his blade is poisoned. Bastard!


    Gritting his teeth, Harrow delivered a merciless kick to the man¡¯s face. The force knocked him backwards, though Harrow also lost his balance and fell over. Still, he made damn sure the vile man got the worst of it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll torture you to death! Just you wait, you little fuck!¡± the man flailed wildly, rolling on the ground. His movements were clumsy, weakened by pain. "I''ll eat you slowly... torment you until you beg for forgiveness."


    Both scrambled to their feet at the same time. The man lunged again, but Harrow ducked beneath his swinging arm and weapon, delivering a hard kick to the injured left knee. The man crashed to the ground once more, his strength now a shadow of what it had been. He was slower, his movements predictable with him preferring the right side.


    Instead of continuing to fight, the man backed away, frantically fishing a small vial from his clothes.


    Recovery potion? Harrow wasn¡¯t sure, but he knew he couldn¡¯t let him drink whatever was inside.


    Without hesitation, Harrow struck. The man¡¯s sluggish limbs brought him to Death''s door. Though he might still overpower Harrow with brute force, he lacked the speed to deliver any such blow.


    The attack sent the man sprawling, the vial flying from his grasp, along with the machete.


    ¡°Little shit, you¡¯ll die at my hands!¡±


    Harrow gave him no chance to follow through on his promise. He plunged Duskripper into the man¡¯s neck.


    The body jerked violently, knocking Harrow back as the man thrashed, his screams echoing through the tunnels. Harrow ignored his incoherent curses, rolling to his feet as adrenaline surged through him. Duskripper, still solid in his hand, glinted ominously. Harrow lunged again, driving the blade into the man¡¯s chest.


    The dagger met resistance but only briefly before slicing through flesh and bone. A dark glow pulsed along its edge. Sacrifice.


    Blood gushed from the wound, hot and bubbling. The man was already dying from the pierced neck, but this final blow sealed his fate. His body convulsed once, twice, then melted into a thick, mist-like liquid, and evaporated into the darkness.


    [You have slain an Unformed Human Thrall.]


    [Unformed Core: 8/100]


    Harrow gasped for air as a warm surge of energy washed away some of the bone-deep weariness that had settled over him. The toxin still lingered in his system, but his skill worked tirelessly to keep it at bay.


    I just killed a man, he thought. He forced himself to glance at where the body should have been, relieved to find that Sacrifice had erased most of the evidence. The man¡¯s belongings remained: a dirty, blood-soaked kaftan and a pool of blood¡ªcolourless under Harrow¡¯s [Nocturnal Vision].


    Wiping the blood from his hands, Harrow tore his eyes away from the scene. Unlike all the beasts he had fought, this was different. It was... unsettling.


    The man had no good intentions, Harrow reminded himself. Beasts were savage by nature, they did not think like humans, but this man had chosen to hunt him.


    He shouldn¡¯t feel a shred of sympathy. In truth, he found it difficult to even pity him. The bastard had brought it upon himself.


    If Harrow had to make the decision again, he would. He¡¯d even double down on the violence, knowing how tough of an opponent he was.


    [Plundered: Uncommon Skill Matrix.]


    [Cloak of Night (Elite): +6]


    [Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +5]


    [Bestial Reflexes (Common): +9]


    Among the man¡¯s possessions lay a small amber gem. It stood apart, having a hint of colour in Harrow¡¯s monochrome vision. There was also another dagger, several vials, and the blowgun the man had used. And, of course, the roasted fox which he had thrown away when the fight began. The bastard had eaten an entire leg.


    Harrow slumped to his knees and began collecting the items one by one, without bothering to inspect them. His body might be saved from exhaustion with essence, but his mind wasn''t so lucky.


    On top of that, he couldn¡¯t afford to waste time. Gathering everything, he quickly left, retreating in the opposite direction the man had been taking him.

 Book 1 | Chapter 11: Memory

    Harrow held the gem before his eyes, probing it with his will to uncover its secrets. The small amber crystal resembled the other one he had found, though it was a little bigger, even compared to the other Uncommon rank crystal he received.


    [Would you like to assimilate the skill: Toxin Infusion (Uncommon)?]


    [Y | N]


    Questions surfaced in his mind about the skill, along with an urge to accept the prompt, but he knew he wasn¡¯t thinking clearly enough to make the best decision. Reluctantly, he stowed the gem away. He would likely assimilate the skill later, but only after he had a clearer head. In fact, he would need to find somewhere safe even to attempt it, considering the process left him vulnerable for a short while.


    With that resolved, he turned his attention to the machete. Its effects on him had stirred some suspicions.


    [Viper¡¯s Kiss:


    Replica (Uncommon) | Durability: 14/25


    Description: A machete carved from the bones of a Unary Formation-ranked Viper. Years of exposure to toxins and various compounds have darkened its original bone-white hue to jet black.


    Toxin Affliction: Inflicts Toxin damage on every cut.]


    It wasn¡¯t a relic, but Harrow hadn¡¯t expected it to be. The machete was twice the size of his obsidian dagger, making it a better weapon for combat, though it lacked the life-saving functions of his relic.


    Harrow shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn¡¯t bound Duskripper. If the man had taken it, things could have gone very differently. Thankfully, that disaster had been avoided.


    Still, one troubling detail lingered in his mind. The voice had referred to the man as a Human Thrall. As far as Harrow knew, a thrall was a creature bound to someone else¡¯s spell, which likely meant the man he had killed had a master¡ªsomeone stronger and far more dangerous than himself. A warlock?


    That realisation didn¡¯t bode well for him.


    Even after hours of creeping through the cavern system, Harrow found no way out. The tunnels grew wider and more labyrinthine the further he ventured. In the middle somewhere he decided to let go of his food, after filling his stomach with a good chunk and taking another chunk for an emergency.


    Eventually, he decided to rest and reconsider his plan. Finding a large crevice, he rested his belongings, sat cross-legged and began to meditate.


    His essence and [Toxin Tolerance] were still working to neutralise the poison in his system. Over two-thirds of his core was consumed by the battle against the toxin, disabling him to fully utilise his other skills.


    Clearing his mind, Harrow focused all his essence on the task. The poison was insidious, especially considering the blade had merely grazed his shoulder. His left arm barely recovered from the hyena bite, and yet now, was further hindered by the toxin. Not for long...


    He didn¡¯t know how much time passed, but for what felt like hours, he channelled his essence through his body, slow and deliberate, until he finally overcame the toxin. By the end, he was drenched in sweat, even in the cold atmosphere.


    At least the improvement would be useful if he were ever poisoned again.


    [Toxin Tolerance (Uncommon): +7]


    [Skill mastery detected: Meditation (Common)]


    [Would you like to add Meditation (Common) in your skilltree?]


    [ Y | N ]


    Harrow froze in his spot. Is this actually possible? Why did nobody tell me before?


    The reasoning came to him. Nobody had mentioned it because nobody had the option to add more skills to their skill tree. Still, the question remained: should he accept or not?


    After some consideration, he chose to dismiss the option. Although his skill tree was unrestricted, he still had a limited number of skill slots. Harrow preferred to assimilate only higher-ranked skills or those that would be broadly useful to his skill set from now on.


    Yes, skill upgrades were possible, but they required months of relentless effort¡ªnot to mention the secret methods necessary to achieve them. Harrow could probably manage an upgrade from Common to Uncommon on his own, but to reach higher tiers, he would need to curry favour with powerful, high-ranking individuals¡ªpeople he had no connections with.


    He was by no means disappointed, however. If acquiring a skill was possible through practising it, it opened so many avenues. Not that he had mastery over a wide branch of skills.


    Sighing, he shifted to the thrall¡¯s belongings, the ones he hadn''t checked: the darts and vials.


    Is it possible one of them contains an antidote?Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    The thought struck him, and he facepalmed. How had he not considered that earlier? It would have solved hours of pain, of carrying around everything while he was impeded by poison internally. Then again, his mind had been scrambled by everything he had experienced. It was not light by any long stretch.


    The Voice of Order revealed the contents of the vials. There were six in total: two large vials of deadly poison potent enough to kill anyone without [Toxin Tolerance], a smaller vial containing a tranquilising agent, an ointment for injuries, one vial of antitoxin, and finally, a minor healing potion.


    Harrow resisted the urge to drink the healing potion. It could completely heal his left arm, but he decided to save it for a more critical injury. Instead, he applied the ointment. It wouldn¡¯t work as quickly as the potion, but it would still stimulate his healing factor. He hoped.


    With all the poison in his possession, it seemed foolish not to take the skill. He disliked the idea of carrying poison wherever he went¡ªit bred distrust. He certainly wouldn¡¯t want to associate with someone who kept toxins on their person.


    But if it was a matter of his survival...


    Harrow let the prompt resurface in his mind and accepted it. He might regret the decision later, but for now, it was purely based on what options were available to him.


    The process wasn¡¯t instantaneous. He endured what felt like hours of searing pain, though it was likely no more than a minute. Eventually, the pain subsided, and a new alert echoed.


    [A memory related to the skill is available.]


    [Would you like to accept the memory?]


    [Y | N]


    Curiosity got the better of him, and he accepted without considering the consequences. A sharp current surged through his mind, forcing a groan from his lips.


    Suddenly, he was in a dim chamber with heavy stone walls. A fire torch cast flickering light across the space, leaving the corners in shadow. Before him lay a collection of weapons¡ªarrows, darts, daggers, and a familiar machete¡ªalong with three large vials. A thick, acrid smell rose from the open vials.


    Before Harrow could process his surroundings, his body moved on its own, drawing the machete and dipping it into one of the poison-filled vials.


    It took him a moment to realise that the memory had placed him in the body of someone else¡ªlikely the man he had killed. The potbelly and the machete confirmed it, even though Harrow couldn¡¯t see the man¡¯s face.


    Harrow didn¡¯t have time to confirm that, as his attention darted to something more interesting. A surging force of intense energy pushed through his arms, flowing into the machete.


    As his eyes locked onto the energy, an intricate interweaving of threads revealed itself. The threads made contact with the liquid toxin dripping from the weapon and incorporated it into the dark machete. All the toxins were absorbed into the blade, leaving behind only a faint residue of smell.


    The man continued the process of infusing toxin from the remaining material, fully demonstrating the mechanics at play before a splitting pain impaled Harrow''s mind. The next moment, he was abruptly expelled from the strange vision.


    His chest heaved as he jerked upright, wiping a line of sweat from his face.


    [Skill gained! Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +1]


    Huh, who knew I¡¯d glimpse the past of someone I killed? he thought. Thankfully, the memory contained nothing heavy that could weigh on his heart.


    The memory had been brief and solely related to the skill. Still, it provided enough insight into how to use it. With that, he began his preparations. Starting with the darts, he dipped the arrowheads into the half-filled vial.


    Then he willed his new skill into action. A fiery wave of essence threaded through his arm, pushing into the bolt. Whatever happened next, he could take no credit for it. The weapon absorbed the transparent liquid coating its surface, leaving nothing behind.


    [Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +2]


    Well, this certainly makes things easier, he thought, now certain he¡¯d have to spend time exploring alternative applications of the skill.


    Careful not to poke himself with the bolt, Harrow set the toxin-infused one aside and picked up another. He repeated the process, taking care to avoid contact with any of the toxins. Not all were purely paralysing, and although he carried antidotes and possessed Toxin Tolerance, he wasn¡¯t eager to put them to the test.


    [Toxin Infusion (Uncommon): +3]


    Harrow had coated only half of his bolts when a disturbance ahead drew his attention. What alarmed him were the echoes of men¡¯s voices shouting in the distance.


    Setting aside his work, Harrow stood and summoned [Cloak of Night]. With his system purged of toxins, he had no trouble covering his body and blending into the darkness. Even so, he moved out of the crevice. Remaining there would be disastrous if they found him and attacked, leaving no room to withdraw.


    Harrow mounted up the cold wall with the blowgun loaded with a dart. [Cloak of Night] still cloaked him in shadow, and he was careful not to make any disturbance. People rarely looked up while walking, and even if they did, they wouldn¡¯t notice him through the shroud of darkness he wore. Unless they had a keen eye skill.


    Once secured, he focused his ears on their conversation.


    A voice crackled loudly, ¡°That dumb sucker Mason just had to die out here. We can¡¯t even eat that toxic bastard.¡±


    ¡°I hope a beast got him,¡± said another voice, this one tentative. ¡°If so, we still can find his belongings. But if it¡¯s one of those forestfiends, there¡¯ll be nothing left to collect.¡±


    Were they talking about the man I killed? Harrow wondered. How did they find out so soon? It hasn¡¯t even been a couple of hours.


    Harrow narrowed his eyes, peering down the pathways. He could sense them drawing closer, though they hadn¡¯t yet entered his line of sight.


    Whatever the case, he readied the blowgun, nocking a toxin-infused dart. He had never used it before and didn¡¯t know if it required any expertise. The mechanism seemed simple enough.


    ¡°Master should¡¯ve let us sacrifice that fat mugger when we had the chance! One of us might¡¯ve reached Formation!¡±


    ¡°Shut your trap, Daem!¡± the second voice snapped, followed by the sound of a slap.


    ¡°You hit me!¡±


    ¡°Keep your voice down! You¡¯ll attract trouble,¡± the second man hissed. ¡°Do I need to remind you why we need to hurry? If it gets dark before we find him¡­¡±


    Two figures finally came into view, creeping along the path. They were not even bothering to check their footing, much less look up.


    ¡°What if it wasn¡¯t a beast?¡± Daem asked, his voice dropping.


    ¡°What else could it be other than beasts?¡± the second man snorted. ¡°You think there could be more of those elves?¡±


    ¡°Or someone else. Mason was asking to get killed, but if someone¡¯s after the elves... We need to warn the master.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll beat us bloody if we fail at the task he had given us....¡±


    The men¡¯s voices grew fainter as they moved away. Harrow kept his eyes trained on their retreating forms.


    Sucking in a deep, frigid breath, he jumped down. Now I¡¯m sure we¡¯re thinking of the same guy.


    They wouldn¡¯t find any of his belongings¡ªnot everything, at least. Harrow had only left behind the bloody kaftan.


    Quickly, he finished his toxin infusion, meticulously gathered his supplies, and disappeared from the spot. He needed to put as much distance between himself and them as possible¡ªperhaps even make some progress before something else tested its luck against him.